



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 



Chap, Copyright No. 

Shelf..T..!?iAyQ3 
J_4 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



AN INTRODUCTION TO THE 
STUDY OF LITERATURE 



The^)<^o 



«s 9 '^^ O 



AN INTRODUCTION 



TO THE 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 

FOR THE USE OF 

SECONDARY AND GRADED SCHOOLS 



EDITED BY 

EDWIN HERBERT LEWIS, Ph.D. 

ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR IN THE LEWIS INSTITUTE; AUTHOR OF 
" A FIRST BOOK IN WRITING ENGLISH " 



THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

LONDON : MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 
1899 

All rights reserved 






A 



28595 



Copyright, 1899, 
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 



TWO eOP»lc.o n^CEIVEO. 




MR 281889 | 



Norfaooti 33«ss 

J. S. Gushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith 
Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 










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To A. H. L. 

I HAVE TRIED TO MAKE A BOOK THAT 
YOU WOULD HAVE APPROVED, HAD IT 
BEEN GIVEN ME AT FOURTEEN. 

E. H. L. 



PREFACE 

It would seem that literature ought to serve as a prime 
agency in the education of the emotions and, indirectly, 
of the will. This is particularly true of the early ado- 
lescent age, with which the upper grammar and the lower 
high school grades are concerned. If the study of English 
during this greatest crisis of the student's life is merely 
formal, he loses one of the best influences school can 
ever give him. To say so is not to underestimate the 
value, ethical or commercial, of formal training in compo- 
sition. There is need for Spartan severity regarding chi- 
rography, orthography, punctuation, syntax, and logic. 
The task of securing correctness by Spartan methods, 
and, at the same time, of arousing an unconstrained love 
for noble Hterature, is the almost hopeless labor set for 
the English teacher. Gradgrind and enemy of Gradgrind 
he must be within the same hour. But there is no escap- 
ing the double duty, and no denying that the second part 
of it is the more important. No greater danger can 
beset secondary education than the notion that its true aim 
is merely the acquisition of instrument knowledges ; but, 
of the twin evils resulting from the information cult, the 
neglect of ideals is worse than the neglect of scholarly 
method. 

But literature is in the schools ; the problem is. How 
should it be graded? There is no solution in following 
the Procrustean principle of chronology. However valua- 



viii PREFACE 

ble an historical view of representative authors may be to 
the pupil of eighteen, it has little value for the younger 
pupil. Were the authors of the seventeenth and eigh- 
teenth centuries interesting to fourteen-year-old boys and 
girls, the case would be different. Shakspere interests 
this age, and so do very many authors of our own day ; 
Milton and Pope and Addison usually do not. In grades 
eight to ten, systematic literary history is hardly a defensible 
subject ; yet some such table as that appended to this volume 
may prove useful, on any indication that the student is be- 
coming interested in the historical significance of a writer. 
If the instructor utilizes his chances to speak of the authors 
as men, the knowledge he conveys of such things as 
Lamb's heroism and Franklin's thrift will repay the stu- 
dent better than learning of Lamb's place in the Eliza- 
bethan revival, and of Franklin's relation to the English 
deists. 

The student's highest normal interests are the chief 
things to regard in grading. It must be ascertained by 
what stages the imagination, the emotions, and the char- 
acter develop. Imagination is strong throughout youth, 
but it is developed now by one interest, now by another. 
Emotions which are embryonic to-day are blossoming to- 
morrow. To discover the stages is the first task. The 
second is to furnish the particular masterpieces "indi- 
cated." Theoretically there is a masterpiece (written, or, 
alas ! unwritten) for every month of the student's life. 
The surest way of learning where the masterpieces fit is 
to allow the student to "browse" in a hbrary. Lamb 
and Ruskin approved this method, with Hmitations ; for 
though Lamb would have all girls educated as Bridget 
Elia was educated, by being "turned loose in a roomful 
of old books,'' the phrase just quoted meant with Lamb 
the Elizabethan dramatists ; and though Ruskin is thankful 



PREFACE ix 

for having been allowed the run of a library, it was a 
library carefully chosen by a man whose tastes were in- 
herited by Ruskin. Various classes in the Lewis Institute 
have been encouraged " to browse," to see if they might 
not hit upon a body of hterature that would remain a 
constant interest to their equals in age. However imper- 
fect and incomplete these investigations, the sifting process, 
upon which the students entered actively and honestly, 
has been of the greatest value to all concerned. It has 
shown that noticeable differences of interest exist between 
ninth and tenth, tenth and eleventh grades. In the nature- 
sense, for instance, as it appears in the youth not hope- 
lessly hardened by " business " aims, there are usually 
marked changes between thirteen and sixteen. The change 
is first from the child's scientific curiosity about nature to a 
half-poetic, but objective, interest in her; the boy becomes 
capable of direct, unreflecting joy in nature, or even of 
direct displeasure with her, in something of the Homeric 
manner ; then he slowly grows to sympathize with the mod- 
ern view, so much more imaginative and sometimes so much 
less wholesome than Homer's. 

The present volume is offered as a tentative body of 
lyrics, ballads, and short stories, for the eighth, ninth, and 
even tenth grades. It draws mostly upon nineteenth-century 
authors. In spite of hundreds of rejections on the score of 
form alone, it includes pieces of very different value as to 
form, a fact which should never be allowed to escape the 
student's attention, — as it certainly will not the critic's. 
The works are grouped by subjects according, to what 
are believed to be the healthy interests of the early ado- 
lescent period. An introduction is prefixed to each chap- 
ter with the aim of pointing out, not too ingeniously, a 
thread of meaning common to all the pieces. Although 
most of the hundred and fifty compositions are complete. 



X PREFACE 

it is by no means supposed that short works should 
suffice for these years. Not later than the eighth grade 
the boy should doubtless become acquainted with Homer 
in rhythmical or metrical translation. Not later than the 
ninth he should doubtless be introduced to Cooper's Leather- 
stocking in at least one complete novel of the series. Not 
later than the tenth he should read a play of Shakspere. 
Homer, Shakspere, and Cooper are not only essential ex- 
periences of the youth, but by mere length compel him 
to consider the architectonics of art. 

The present volume contains a great many poems, all 
of which should be read aloud, except the few (italicized 
in the table of contents) which are perhaps too delicate 
for oral interpretation by young students. Those starred 
are particularly good for learning by heart.^ Difficult words 
should be pronounced by the instructor and doubtful pas- 
sages orally interpreted before the pupil is asked to prepare 
(always overnight) the piece he is to read facing the class. 
It will be better still to rehearse the whole piece for the 
pupil before he studies it. The vigorous poems should 
be given to the vigorous ; the swift poems to the sure of 
speech ; the pathetic to the self-controlled ; and the droll 
to those who are risible. 

The best results will be secured with the book if it is not 
taken too rapidly. It will yield ample material for three 
hours a week of recitation for forty weeks ; these weeks 
may be successive or may be divided into twenty for 
one year and twenty for another. Every precaution must 
be taken not to let the poetry pall, particularly in 
Chapters III and VI, where the emotional element is 
large, and wherever the didactic and artistic elements 



1 The songs may properly be sung, wherever good music is obtain- 
able — like Schubert's for Hark, hark, the lark. ■ 



PREFACE Xi 

are imperfectly fused. It is assumed that the student is 
writing themes frequently, and perhaps on such questions 
as may be suggested by the notes. But he should not 
be allowed to lay violent hands on the poetry for topics. 
That is, paraphrasing and set criticisms should be dis- 
couraged. It is better for the teacher to do whatever 
paraphrasing is necessary for the understanding of the 
work, and to change the diction of the poet as little as 
possible. Three hours a week to the literature for its own 
sake, and two hours (on consecutive days) for composition, 
is probably a better division of time in these grades than 
half an hour daily to each subject. 

Now a word as to the analytical parts of the book — 
the general introduction, the notes, and the " plans of 
summary." Their perhaps overambitious purpose is to 
suggest a very elementary, but sound, method and vocabu- 
lary of criticism. They are here to be used or not used 
as every teacher thinks best. At fifteen the boy or girl 
persists in a certain amount of self-analysis, and perhaps 
a little analysis of literature may be a legitimate discharge 
for this impulse. Just how much of this kind of study is 
healthful in the eighth, ninth, and tenth grades is a ques- 
tion not for theorists, but for teachers. It is a question 
on which the experience of other teachers is entreated by 
the present editor. In the eighth grade it may be best 
to omit all the editorial matter. In the ninth it may be 
best to omit only the general introduction, or a part of it, 
or to give it after the literature has come to be liked and 
felt. One thing is certain, that the analytic notes should 
not be studied by the student till he has read and enjoyed 
the piece itself. 

The editor's thanks are due to the following gentlemen, 
the publishers whose courtesy has made this work possi- 
ble : Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons, Messrs. Harper and 



xii PREFACE 

Brothers, Messrs. D. Appleton and Co., Messrs. Longmans, 
Green, & Co., Messrs. Little, Brown, & Co., Messrs. G. P. 
Putnam's Sons, Mr. John Lane, Messrs. Henry Holt and 
Co., Messrs. Small, Maynard, and Co., Messrs. Robert Bon- 
ner's Sons, Messrs. Doubleday and McClure Co., Messrs. 
The Macmillan Co. Detailed credit will be given in the 
proper places for permission to use the pieces printed. If 
any selection has been taken without securing permission 
from the owners, the mistake has been due to inadvertence. 

In conclusion the editor must thank many friends for 
counsel. Particularly must he acknowledge the welcome 
assistance, criticism, and sympathy of his colleagues, Miss 
Jane L. Noble and Miss Charlotte N. Underwood, and of 
Director George N. Carman. 

E. H. L. 

Chicago, November 17, 1898. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



Preface 

General Introduction 



CHAPTER I 

The Nobility of Animals 



PAGE 

vii 
I 



14 



Introduction 

The King of Denmark's Ride . Caroline Elizabeth S. Norton . 18 
* How they brought the Good 
News from Ghent to Aix . . Robert Browning ..... 20 

■j'j.g^y ^ ^ Robert Browning 23 

Helvellyn ^^^ Walter Scott .... 

CHAPTER II 
The Heroism of War 



25 



27 



36 



Introduction 

The Private of the Buffs . . . Sir Francis Hastings Doyle . . 34 

The Charge of the Light Bri- 
gade Alfred, Lord Tennyson . . 

* The Revenge, a Ballad of the 

Fleet Alfred, Lord Tennyson ... 38 

The Loss of the Birkenhead . Sir Francis Hastings Doyle . . 45 

Soldier and Sailor too (selec- 
tion) Rudyard Kipling 47 

Midshipman Lanyon .... Theodore Watts-Dunton ... 48 

The Drums of the Fore and Aft 

(abridged) Rudyard Kipling .... 

Incident of the French Camp . Robert Browning .... 

Herve Riel Robert Browning 83 



49 

81 



XIV 



CONTENTS 



The Deserter from the Cause . 
Heather Ale, a Galloway 

Legend 

Adam of Gordon 

A Plantation Heroine .... 
The Angels of Buena Vista . . 
Decoration 

* The Burial of Sir John Moore 

* On the American Revolution 

(selection) 

♦Concord Hymn 



Gerald Massey 89 

Robert Louis Stevenson ... 90 
Anonymous (^Folk ballad) . . 93 
George Gary Eggleston . . . . 96 
John Greenleaf Whittier . . .98 
Tho?nas Wentivorth Higginson . 103 
Charles Wolfe 104 

William Pitt, Earl of Chatham 105 
Ralph Waldo Emerson . . .107 



CHAPTER III 
The Heroism of Peace 



Introduction 

Hannah the Quakeress . . . 

Reconciliation 

The Confederate Soldier after 
the War 

The Arsenal at Springfield . . 

The Three Fishers 

A Sea Story 

Patroling Barnegat .... 

An Incident of the Fire at Ham- 
burgh 

'Ware Holes 

Enter Patient 

Operation 

In the Children's Hospital . . 

San Lorenzo GiustinianVs 
Mother 

Barclay of Ury 

Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers 
in New England 

The Twenty-Second of De- 
cember 

* "A Man Must Live" . . 

The Hero .... 



Ednah Proctor Clarke . 
Walt Whitman . . . 



L/enry Woodfen Grady 
Henry Wadsivorth Long 
Charles Kingsley 
Emily LL. Liickey 
Walt Whitman . 



gfellow 



James Russell Lowell . 
A. Conan Doyle . . . 
William Ernest LLenley 
William Ernest Henley 
Alfred, Lord Tetinyson 



Alice Meynell .... 
John Greenleaf Whittier 

Felicia Browne Hemans 

William Cullen Bryant 
Charlotte Perkins Stetson 
Robert Nicoll . . 



109 
117 
120 

121 
123 

125 
126 
127 

128 
130 
132 

134 

139 
140 

145 

146 

147 
148 



CONTENTS XV 

CHAPTER IV 
The Athlete 

PAGE 

Introduction i^i 

Swimming (from " The Two 

Foscari") George Gordon Noel^ Lord Byron 156 

The Physique of a Wood-cut- 
ter (from " The Toilers of the 
Field") Richard Jefferies 157 

The Runner Walt Whitman 159 

The Football Player .... Edward Cracroft Lefroy , . .159 

Childhood and Youth, a Con- 
trast Edward Cracroft Lefroy . . .160 

The Great Winter (Chap. XLII 

of " Lorna Doone ") . . . R. D. Blackmore 161 

Driven beyond Endurance 
(Chap. LXXIV of "Lorna 
Doone") R. D. Blackmore 166 

My Bath John Stuart Blackie . . . . 1 76 

* Oh, Our Manhood's Prime 

Vigor (from "Saul") . . . Robert Browning 178 

The Haunted Palace .... Edgar Allan Poe 179 

Dialogue between Franklin and 

the Gout Benjamin Franklin .... 181 

The Lyra Prayer Richard Jefferies i88 

Sir Galahad Alfred, Lord Tennyson . . . 191 

CHAPTER V 
The Adventurer 

Introduction i95 

The Cow-Boy (abridged) . . John Antrobus 198 

Sand of the Desert in an Hour- 

Glass Henry Wadszvorth Longfellow . 200 

The Secret of the Sea .... Llenry Wadsworth Longfellozu . 202 

The Voyage of Maeldune . . Alfred, Lord Tennyson . . . 203 

* Ulysses Alfred, L^ord Tennyson . . .211 

A Meeting in the Heart of 

Africa (from " How I found 

Livingstone ") Henry Morton Stanley . . . 214 



xvi CONTENTS 

CHAPTER VI 

The Hearth 

PAGE 

Introduction 224 

* The " Old, Old Song " . . . Charles Kingsley 229 

Driving Home the Cows . . . Kate Putnam Osgood .... 230 
There's Nae Luck about the 

House William Julius Mickle ( ? ) . . 232 

Mary-Ann^ s Child. ... William Barnes 234 

David and Absalom .... The Bible 235 

How's my Boy? Sydney Dobell 236 

The Forsaken Merman . . . Matthew Arnold 238 

The Toys Coventry Patjuore 243 

An Episode John Addington Symonds . . 244 

The Selling of Rhodope (from 

"Rhodope and ^Esop, an 

Imaginary Conversation ") . Walter Savage Landor . . . 245 

The Merry Lark Charles Kingsley 252 

Two Sons Robert Buchanan 253 

Sohrab and Rustum, an Episode Matthew Arnold 254 



CHAPTER VII 

The Morning Landscape 

Introduction 283 

Sympathy Thomas Ashe 293 

Changed Voices Williajn Watson 294 

* Pippa Passes Robert Browning 295 

March . William Wordsworth . . . .295 

* I wandered Lonely as a Cloud William Wordsworth .... 296 

The Yellow Violet William Cullen Bryant . . .297 

The Rhodora Ralph Waldo Emerson . . .298 

Warble for Lilac-Time . . . Walt Whitman 299 

The Crow William Canton 300 

* Hark, Hark, the Lark . . . William Shakspere 301 

The Lattice at Sunrise . . . Charles Tennyson-Turner . . 302 

Dawn and Dark Norman Gale . 



02 



Sunrise on the Hills .... //enry Wadsivorth Longfellow . 303 



CONTENTS 



XVll 



*My Heart Leaps up when I 
Behold 

'Twas One of the Charmed 
Days (from " Voluntaries ") , 

June 

* To the Dandelion .... 
The Humble-Bee . . . . . 
The Humming-Bird .... 

* The Eagle, a Fragment . . 
The Bird (from " The Queen of 

the Air") ....... 

Song of the Chattahoochee . . 

The Railway Train 

The Sea 

The Shell 

* Scythe Song 

* Sweet Day, so Cool . . » . 
The Death of the Flowers . . 

November 

The Snow -Storm 

Winter Harvests 



William Wordsworth . . 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 
William Cullen Bryant 
James Russell Lowell . 
Ralph Waldo Emerson 
Emily Dickinson . . 
Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

John Ruskin . . » . 

Sidney Lanier . . . 

Emily Dickinson . . 

Barry Cornwall . 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

Andrew Lang .... 
George LLerbert . . . 
William Cullen Bryant 
Willia?n Cullen Bryajit 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 

Arthur Christopher Benson 



304 

305 
305 
307 
309 

3" 
312 

312 

315 

316 

317 
318 

319 
320 

321 

322 

323 



CHAPTER VIII 
The Gentleman 

Introduction . . . o 3^5 

Of Vulgarity (Chap. Vll of 
"Modern Painters," Vol. V, 
Part IX) John Ruskin 329 

The Young Montagu (from 
"The Praise of Chimney- 
Sweepers") Charles Lamb 343 

Tact Ralph Waldo Emerson . . . 345 

Two Gentlemen at Petersburg . George Gary Eggleston . . . 346 

The Gentleman (from " The 

Idea of a University") . . Jo/ui LLenry, Cardinal Newman 349 

A Fop William Shakspere 351 

A Breach of Etiquette . . . George Gary Eggleston . . . -353 



XVlll 



CONTENTS 



Remarks concerning the Sav 
ages of North America 

Omar and the Persian . . . 

The Octopus of the Golden Isles 

The Churl in Spirit (poem cxi 
from hi Memoriam) . . 

The End of the Play (abridged) 



Benjamin Franklin . . . .355 

Sarah Williams 362 

Theodore Watts-Dunton . . . 364 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson . . . 365 
William Makepeace Thackeray 366 



CHAPTER IX 



Wit and Humor 



Introduction 

Lamb's Salt Dips 

Mrs. Malaprop on Education 

for Girls 

When Moonlike ore the Hazure 

Seas 

Lapsus Calami 

He is an Englishman .... 
The Didactic Poem .... 
The Height of the Ridiculous . 
The Productions of Ceylon . . 
*The Last Leaf 



370 

Walter J err old 376 



Richard Brinsley Sheridan 



378 



William Makepeace Thackeray 378 



James Kenneth Stephen . 
William Schwenk Gilbert 
Richard Garnett . . . . 
Oliver Wendell Holmes . 
Sydney Smith , . . . 
Oliver Wendell Holmes . 



379 
380 
380 

381 
382 

384 



CHAPTER X 



The Far Goal 

Introduction 386 

My Chateaux (selection from 

"Prueandl") George William Curtis . . .391 

One Grand, Sweet Song . . . Charles Kingsley 397 

Sweet is the Rose Edmund Spenser 397 

Caspar Becerra Henry Wadszvorth Longfellow . 398 

* Will Alfred, Lord Tennyson . . . 399 

Habit (from " JPrinciples of 

Psychology") William James 400 



CONTENTS xix 

PAGE 

Forbearance Ralph Waldo Emerson . . . 401 

* Say not, the Struggle naught 

Availeth Arthur Hugh Clough .... 401 

The Ladder of Saint Augustine Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . 402 

To a Water-Fowl William Cullen Bryant . . . 404 



Chronological Table 406 



AN INTRODUCTION TO THE 
STUDY OF LITERATURE 

INTRODUCTION 

1. Literature is, etymologically, something written; 
litera is the Latin from which letter is derived. Yet it was 
late in the world's history that songs and stories were 
actually written down. Homer's poetry was the better for 
being tested a thousand times by audiences before any of 
the reciters of it (rhapsodes) thought of writing it out. 
In the dawn of the world there was only oral literature. 
To this day, old ballads, like Adam of Gordon (page 
93), are handed down by Scotch women who can neither 
read nor write. The tales of Uncle Remus were literature 
even before Mr. Joel Chandler Harris conceived the ad- 
mirable notion of giving literary form to what he had 
heard from the lips of illiterate negroes. 

2. The songs and stories which we heard as children were 
literature, but we were probably unaware of the fact. In 
childhood we enjoy whatever appeals to us, but do not 
ask ourselves its scientific name, or why we like it. Nor 
are such questions vital. It is surely more important to 
enjoy a book than to know by what tricks the author 
makes us enjoy it. If no man ate his dinner till he 
understood why he liked it, the world would be a grave- 
yard in a month. Yet in studying literature there are 
certain principles of appreciation which may help us in 

B I 



2 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

getting the full flavor of what we read. First, then, let 
us ask ourselves what literature is. 

3. Evidently such a question is not to be answered in a 
breath; yet we probably agree that literature is an art, — 
whatever that means. It is allied to painting, sculpture, 
and music. These are sometimes called the fine arts, to 
distinguish them from practical arts like cooking and 
architecture. Perhaps a better distinction would be that 
between higher arts and lower. Cooking is a lower art, — 
lower than it might be if cooks knew hygiene. Sculpture 
is a higher art, yet not unpractical; statues were often 
compelled by the Greeks to support roofs. Music is a 
useful art when it nerves soldiers for a righteous fight, or 
quiets a mob, or refines the vulgar, or puts a miser in a 
mood to think of eternity. Music is far from useful when 
it throws people into hysterical raptures and unstrings the 
will. Architecture is a useful art, but architecture would 
probably be more useful if it considered certain laws of 
beauty; if built of poor material and ornamented with tin 
cornices, a house is neither honest, useful, nor beautiful. 

4. We must now define more closely what is meant by 
art, as applied to painting, sculpture, music, and litera- 
ture. What is the chief end that these arts try to accom- 
plish? The great artist aims at something better than 
tempting dishes and water-tight houses. Consider a line 
or two of real poetry : — 

Golden lads and girls all must, 

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 

What effect is Shakspere trying to produce upon us? 
Clearly he is endeavoring to convey to us one of his per- 
sonal feelings, or rather several of them. He has been 
thinking about one of his characters, a golden-haired 
woman, who, disguised as a boy, is lying unconscious in 



IN TR ODUCl 'ION 3 

the forest. The shepherds call her dead, and sing a dirge 
over her. Shakspere is composing that song. As he 
looks with the shepherds upon poor Fidele,^ he remembers 
that not all children are fair and white. The chimney 
sweepers, poor little imps, are both amusing and pitiful in 
their grime and soot. Suddenly it sadly flashes upon him, 
remembering his own dead child, that, golden-haired or 
grimy, all the children must one day turn to dust. Into 
his song he pours all this mixture of feeling — admiration, 
humor, pity, and grief. On reading, we suspect immedi- 
ately that transmission of feeling is one chief function of 
the higher arts. We recall lines that pretended to be 
poetry, but that were prosy, because cold and unfeeling. 
To show that metre does not make poetry. Dr. Samuel 
Johnson improvised these verses : — 

I put my hat upon my head 
And walked into the strand; 
And there I saw another man 
Whose hat was in his hand. 

Here no emotion is conveyed — unless it be unintentional 
humor. 

5. Let us see if the transmission of feeling is character- 
istic of the other fine arts. Certainly it is of music. 
Music makes us laugh, or weep, or quicken step. Some- 
thing similar is true of painting. Before the Sistine Ma- 
donna the peasants shed tears, or stand in breathless awe. 
Sculpture, too, moves the feelings, though fewer than are 
reached through pictures. The statue of a Greek god awakes 
our admiration for the human form, and our appreciation 
of majestic repose. It rous&e, too, a sense of awe, for it 
stands looking out on life to-day with the same divine 
steadiness it has shown for a thousand years. Evidently all 
artists aim at the heart. They may stir the merest quiver 
1 Three syllables, accent on the second. 



4 ' STUDY OF LITERATURE 

of pleasure, regret, hope; or they may arouse the fiercest 
throbbings of joy, remorse, ambition. 

6. Of course, with all these emotions thought is mingled, 
especially with those aroused by literature. Whereas musit 
is the natural language of the heart, words are the natural 
language of the head. If the orchestra plays fear, you feel 
it at once; if the poet writes "fear," the word does not 
immediately more you; it is merely the idea of fear. Not 
until you fall to thinking on the subject, calling up the 
pictures of things that you fear, does literature get you to 
feel it. Literature therefore gives a calmer, a more 
thoughtful pleasure, and often a healthier pleasure, than 
does music. Literature is a sort of finer thinking about 
life, — the thinking that comes more from the heart than 
from the head. The poets tell us their wisest and tender- 
est thoughts about life. 

7. It may seem unfortunate that the arts put so much 
weight on emotion; but only bad art makes people hysteri- 
cal, or sentimental, or visionary. Good art, at least good 
art in reasonable quantity, never does that, for it does 
not forget to express all the stronger emotions that are 
noble, and these are the sworn enemies of the hysterical. 
Fine natures are bundles of feeling, though they seem 
outwardly calm. The coarse man does not show grief, 
because he does not feel it; the fine man feels it, but mas- 
ters it with another emotion, — pride, faith, courage. Our 
sensibilities are numberless, and very few of them can re- 
ceive expression; yet they are the most important part of 
us. Children do not think of their father as a walking vol- 
ume, or a walking industry, though he may have written 
a profound book or built up a great business. They think 
of him as a person made chiefly of humor, patience, sym- 
pathy, and love. His learning is a mere adjunct to him- 
self. 



INTR OD UCTION c 

8. Obviously, our possibilities of noble feeling need de- 
velopment. Not to have experienced all the legitimate 
sensations of youth, beginning with the love of fun, the 
love of adventure, and the love of success, is to be unedu- 
cated. Literature is a recognized means of widening our 
range of feelings. How is a boy to know the hopes and 
fears of shipwreck but from Crusoe and Jim Hawkins? 
How is he to imagine the sensations of journeying to the 
moon, save by the help of Verne? Ordinary life will not 
invite us to dinner with the queen, or to go on secret mes- 
sages after her diamonds, or to fight in armor, or to see 
ghosts, or to descend into the inferno. If we wish to 
imagine these experiences, we must turn to literature. If 
we are not to be content with drudgery, we must go to 
books for means of multiplying our imaginative pleasures. 
I say " imaginative " pleasures distinctly, not meaning the 
pleasures of information. The novel or poem that has no 
object except the sugaring over of useful information is 
usually poor stuff. 

9. It is not pretended that every emotion transmitted 
by art is desirable. It would be a great mistake to sup- 
pose that every beautiful style embodies noble feeling. The 
photographer can use a lense that heightens the brutish fore- 
head. So the novelist can disguise the bestial qualities of 
hatred, cruelty, cowardice, and lust, if he mixes a little 
courtesy with the hatred, a little wit with the cmelty, a little 
policy with the cowardice, a little nonsense about "wild 
oats " with the lust. 

10. Have, then, these evil qualities no place in litera- 
ture? Yes; but only in the hands of a few masters. 
Shakspere and Hawthorne can show the horror of them; 
most writers merely succeed in presenting degrading pic- 
tures. The virus of hydrophobia will not more surely cause 
its victim to act like a dog, than will the memory of beauti- 



5 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

ful images expressing bestial feelings degrade him who 
cherishes them. 

11. Each time of life has its peculiar emotions. Old age 
has its pleasures of memory, its quiet sadness of sorrows 
dulled by time, and its serene hope of the future life. 
Middle age has its anxiety for the welfare of the young 
generation. Young manhood has its ambition, its senti- 
ment, and its passion of love. 

12. Perhaps we may say that the feelings normal to four- 
teen and fifteen are as follows: a wholesome sense of fun; 
a love of nature in her fresh and woodsy moods; courage, 
endurance, fidelity, loyalty; a reasonable sense of bodily 
vigor; love of adventure; a desire for practical success; 
aspiration, hope, perseverance, faith; a strong love of one's 
parents and home, if one is not treated like a child; ad- 
miration for courtesy, mercy, and heroism. All this does 
not mean that the youth is a saint with a formidable list of 
virtues. It does mean that he admires in others any mani- 
festation of these emotions, many of which are among the 
noblest that human nature can feel; and that he is entirely 
capable of developing many of them in himself. 

13. The poems and stories of this volume have been 
selected because they exhibit these feelings as they have 
appeared in actual men, or in personages of the imagina- 
tion. Note that artistic exhibition is very different from 
preaching a moral. One can draw a moral from anything 
in this world, if one has the habit. Most of us are fortu- 
nately able to see the robin in the sunrise without reflecting 
that the early bird catches the worm. Perfect poetry, like 
nature, never preaches. If all the poetry in this book were 
perfect, there would not be a single moral, directly stated, 
in it. Nearly every piece included has been recommended 
by some hundreds of students of the age for which it is 
here intended. These did their best to keep out everything 



INTR on UCTION y 

unpleasantly didactic. They regret that they could not find 
more perfect expressions of some of the emotions, for ex- 
ample, those of football. The search convinced them that 
great poets must find it very hard to remember their boy- 
hood. It is comparatively easy to remember one's thoughts, 
but it is hard, even for the poet, who recalls his emotions 
better than do other people, to remember feelings long 
since dead. 

14. We have now seen that literature transmits thought- 
ful emotions. It does this not by stone, or pigment, or 
musical sounds, but bywords. Yet how by words? Sup- 
pose that a dry philosopher one day feels the emotion of 
sadness at the thought that all things must perish. An 
emotion of any sort is so rare in him that he fancies his 
dreamy youth coming back, and sits down to express in 
poetry his sweet melancholy. He writes : — 

Into primordial atoms, we discern, 

All sentient beings, though diverse, return. 

Having proceeded at this rate for a hundred lines, he 
hands the fresh manuscript to his boy. Tom reads the 
lines respectfully, and declares them fine; but his wise old 
father sees that they touch no feeling whatever in Tom, ex- 
cept his pride at being consulted. Of course they have not. 
Who can weep over atoms? 

15. Now suppose Master Will Shakspere sitting at 
New Place, famous and lonely; famous because the queen 
and all her people like his plays; lonely, too, because 
remembering his golden-haired boy who lies in the 
churchyard by the river. How white that face was 
beneath the golden hair! not like those of the chimney- 
sweeps the poet had seen in London. Shakspere feels a 
touch of humor at the memory of their impish black, and 
a touch of pity for their lives. Ah! but it will soon be 



8 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



with them as it is with the golden head in the churchyard. 
The great man picks up his pen and goes on with the 
dirge he is writing, to be spoken in his new play of 
"Cymbeline": — 

Golden lads and girls all must, 

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust, — 

and here, I think, he must have laid the pen down again 
and gone out into the green fields; for the poet can write 
well of his emotions when he remembers them dimly, but 
not when they are choking him again. How did Shak- 
spere, unconsciously enough, produce, in those who heard 
these two lines next month at the theatre, the mingled 
emotions of humor, pity, and sorrow? Merely by trans- 
ferring his own emotion through images. He makes us 
see the golden hair, the white skin, the impish black faces, 
and, lastly, the coffined dust in the churchyard. 

1 6. Let us take another example. Suppose we wish to 
convey a sense of the loneliness of a deserted house. If 
we write, "There were none of the accustomed sounds of 
busy life, and so all the minor noises of the deserted 
place were plainly audible," our sentence arouses no emo- 
tion. But when Tennyson treats the same subject, he calls 
up the sound-images, and produces at once the desired 
impression : — 

All day within the dreamy house, 

The doors upon their hinges creak'd; 

The blue fly sung in the pane ; the mouse 
Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd. 

17. Sound-images and sight-images are preferred by the 
arts, but images of odor, touch, motion, muscular contrac- 
tion, etc., are also employed. Images of odor are some- 
times very effective in arousing forgotten feelings that once 
happened to be associated with the given odor. Thus, the 



INTRODUCTION g 

poet Owen Meredith makes the scent of a jasmine flower 
recall to a man his dead sweetheart : — 

Oh, the faint, sweet smell of that jasmine flower ! 
It made me start, and it made me cold. 

1 8. If a poet is really great, his work is a tissue of 
images, though free from over-decoration. They are not 
merely memories of actual sights and sounds, filling his 
mind like tiny landscapes in a camera; some are new com- 
binations. He sees the sky, and is about to call it " the 
starry sky," when it suggests to him a floor inlaid with bits 
of gold. Thus he enriches the reader with several impres- 
sions instead of one. The resemblances noted by the poet 
between different images give rise to "figures." Gazing 
upon the waves and listening to them, the poet sees points 
of resemblance to various other things: dancing children; 
galloping horses; a mass of beautiful hair; tears; a march- 
ing army; a turbulent mob; a symphony; laughing or 
moaning human voices; molten silver, or emerald, or tur- 
quoise (things that he never saw, but that he understood 
by combining various images). When he writes of the 
"dancing waves," or the "horses of Neptune," or the 
" waves of golden hair," or the "emerald depths," he 
is making "figures."^ Figures, then, are compounds of 
images, and are made by the rare gift of seeing a resem- 
blance where most persons fail to see it. We may call 
them a kind of invention. 

19. Our definition has now advanced thus far: Litera- 
ture is an art which transmits thoughtful emotion by images 
and inventions embodied in words. The word inventio7i 

1 The two most important figures are metaphor and simile. " The wave 
is like a dancer " is simile, that is, the explicit statement of a resemblance 
between two things unlike in most respects. " The wave dances " and " the 
dancing wave " are metaphors. Metaphor identifies the two things com- 
pared. 



JO STUDY OF LITERATURE 

ought to include more than figures of speech. If the artist 
can invent these, why may he not invent whole landscapes ? 
The painter can take his sketches of different places, his 
memories of lights and lines, and by combining and reject- 
ing can create a new landscape. So can the poet. Dreams 
sometimes permit ordinary persons to do the same thing, 
though usually there is not much reason in dream pictures. 
By observing many persons, the novelist is able to create 
a character like them all, yet different from any one of them. 
He wishes to draw a commercial traveller, let us say. He 
jots down notes of all the "drummers" he meets; by and 
by he compares notes and constructs a "type." What 
would be the details of dress and manner common to most 
"drummers" ? 

20. This making of composite photographs by the in- 
ventive imagination is not hard to understand when an 
imaginary landscape is the product. It is more difficult to 
grasp when a real person, not merely a type, seems to be 
created outright. The novelist sets his memory whirling, 
full of memories of a hundred men, and suddenly he hands 
you out a Crusoe or a Hamlet. The new character seems 
truer to life than one's own neighbors. Jim Hawkins never 
lived; nor Friday, nor Leatherstocking, nor Ivanhoe, nor 
Shylock; yet each is a strangely real unity, — entirely alive 
and responsible for his acts. It would puzzle Shakspere 
himself to say how his character Lear came to be. We 
can only guess that the same inventive principle which 
produces figures of speech and composite landscapes is 
capable of creating Cordelias and Lears. Somehow that 
rare gift of seeing resemblances must have done the 
work. Newton, says some one, was the first man to see 
that the earth is like an apple falling toward the sun. 
Shakspere was the first to see, in supremely beautiful and 
touching images, that he who is heartlessly self-willed is 



INTR OD UCTION 



II 



very like a madman. Consequently, Shakspere was the 
first and only man who could write the tragedy of Lear. 

2 1. Having assured ourselves that literature is an art 
which transmits thoughtful emotion by language embodying 
images and inventions, we must ask. Should the images and 
the language be pleasing? We did not ask that question 
about emotion. We agreed that art may express any emo- 
tion, pleasant or not. We probably agree that we desire 
just as much beauty of style as the subject will permit. We 
know that, when Macbeth comes out from King Duncan's 
chamber, he comes a murderer; yet we like the excited 
poetic language in which he says : — 

Here lay Duncan, 
His silver skin laced with his golden blood. 

In a later act. Lady Macbeth, walking in her sleep, tries 
to wash the foul stains of blood from her hands. This 
scene rouses an extremely unpleasant feeling, but it is re- 
lieved by the beauty of Lady Macbeth' s words: — 

Here's the smell of the blood still : all the perfumes of Arabia will 
not sweeten this little hand. 

Here Shakspere has felt that he cannot give us only 
pleasant images, for he is portraying the mind of a mur- 
deress. He suggests the smell of blood, but tries to relieve 
it with the odors of Araby the blest. 

2 2. In like manner, the very language of literature 
should sound as sweet as the emotion to be conveyed will 
permit. Without reference to what it means, it should 
itself be pleasant. A word like mellow, or golden, or 
shadowy, is more agreeable than one like smash, recognize, 
or muggy. The first examples are called euphonious, or 
well-sounding words; the second are called cacophonous, 
or ill-sounding. Euphonious is itself rather a pleasant 
word; cacophonous is as harsh as the quality it stands for. 



J 2 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Pick out the euphonious and the cacophonous words in the 
following list; never mind the meaning: cragged, perfidi- 
ous, hesperides, lovely, marble, celestial, glutted, cinnamon, 
ambrosia, lucent, argosies, Fez, manna, immemorial, lita- 
nies, silver, musquash, grate, martlet, tintinnabulation, 
croaks, billowy, Karshish, Felippa, Hakkadosh, delicate, 
acoustics, Magdeburg, dulcimer. 

23. Pick out the euphonious and the cacophonous com- 
binations in the following list : his is ; as is the case ; owns 
us as her sons ; murmur of doves in immemorial elms ; 
Dirck galloped ; showery rain; vesper chime ; songless lute ; 
lute unswept; by the mirage is lifted; closing in slumbers the 
while ; stately pleasure dome ; white, white violet; silence 
in the atmosphere ; quietly rested; drums and trafnplings ; 
molten, golden notes ; the rust within their throats. 

24. From such a phrase as " myriad-starred mignonette, " 
there is another pleasure to be had besides the presence of 
delicate vowels and the absence of harsh consonants. The 
phrase goes with a tripping rhythm, a lilt. It has four ac- 
cents: "my'riad star'red mign'onette'." Rhythm is a pleas- 
ing thing to the human animal. If one leg had no chance 
to rest while the other took the step, walking would be as 
hard as convict labor. We are set to rhythm even in our 
heart-beats and our breathing. Now, speech depends on 
breath; and since breath is rhythmical, speech is rhythmical. 
Curiously enough, the more interested a speaker becomes in 
his subject the more rhythmical he becomes in speech. 
Emotion seems to express itself so, even in savage man. 

25. The writer too finds rhythm an aid to the expression 
of feeling. With almost every breath he regularly pauses, 
thus giving us the line, or verse.^ And he beats out the 

1 Verse properly means not stanza, but line. Note the force of the 
derivation from Latin vertere, "to turn," while /;w^ is from Latin 
prorsuSf " straight on." 



INTR OD UC TION j ^ 

line into metre, that is, into a definite number of feet, 
each consisting of one accented and one or more un- 
accented syllables. A trochaic foot, or trochee, consists 
of an accent followed by a rest, thus : lovely. If another 
unaccented syllable is added, we have a dactyl, thus: 
merrily. If, now, the rest precedes the accent, we get an 
iambus, thus : above ; and if two unaccented syllables 
precede, the result is an anapest, thus : indiscreet. In 
English poetry not every line is all composed of one kind 
of foot, but there is in every poem a predominant foot. 
According to this we name the metre trochaic, iambic, 
dactyllic, or anapestic. According to the number of 
accents in the line — two, three, four, five, six, or seven 
— we call the metre dimeter, trimeter, tetrameter, pen- 
tameter, hexameter, or heptameter. We shall find that 
each metre has its value; for example, iambic trimeter is 
a very rapid metre, while trochaic heptameter is a very 
slow one. 

26. Our definition is now fairly complete. Literature 
is the art which transmits thoughtful emotion by language of 
pleasant sound, embodying images and inventions as pleas- 
ant as the given emotion permits. Poetry, in the ordinary 
sense, is that form of literature which employs metre. 



CHAPTER I 
THE NOBILITY OF ANIMALS 

Scientists describe animals and classify them, some- 
times cutting them up alive to be perfectly sure as to how 
their nerves and muscles work; but savages, children, and 
poets love animals. The savage is near enough to the beast 
not to think himself so very much the superior creature. 
Hiawatha talks of squirrels and birds as his brothers. Mr. 
Kipling's creation, the jungle-child Mowgli, understands 
what wild creatures say. Children get on famously with 
cats and dogs that are irritable toward the grown. Great 
artists find in the higher brutes many manlike qualities. 
Indeed, there are some animals so human and some men so 
brutal, that if the poet is properly to honor the former, he 
must neglect the latter. Animals have been known to die 
of grief on their master's grave; men have been known to 
grudge the time they spent at the funeral of a benefactor. 

Horses and dogs are by common consent the noblest of 
the lower creatures, for they enter into the lives of their 
masters. Robert Browning has a poem which exhibits in 
a touching way the sympathy between the Arab and his 
courser. Muleykeh, the Pearl, has never been beaten in 
speed, even by her sister Buheyseh. Both horses sleep in 
their owner's tent. One night the Pearl is stolen by a man 
who has in vain tried to buy or beg her. H6seyn sees that 
the tether is cut which bound her to his ankle, and that the 
mare is gone. He springs on Buheyseh and follows like 
the wind. Now we see the problem : either he must lose 

14 



THE NOBILITY OF ANIMALS 



15 



the Pearl ~ or the Pearl must lose her record. Buh^yseh 
gains, frantic to beat her sister. The master cannot bear it. 
He shouts to the thief to touch the right ear and press the 
left flank. The Pearl hears the familiar voice and springs 
away beyond hope of recovery. The Arab returns, and is 
ridiculed by his friends. Had he kept his mouth shut, 
here would have been the Pearl again, the eyed like an 
antelope : — 

" And the beaten in speed ! " wept Hoseyn; 
" You have never loved my Pearl." 

In reading of famous horseback rides we are often at 
loss to know which is the true hero of the hour, — the man 
or the animal. In Longfellow's Ride of Paul Reve7'e it is 
the midnight message which we honor, but the poet cannot 
help saying that the spark struck out by that steed in his 
flight kindled the land into flame with its heat. In 
Buchanan Read's Sheridan's Ride the balance of praise is 
quite with the galloping black, although the poet hurrahs 
for horse and man. In O'Reilly's Ride of Collins Grave 
we forget all but the errand, — to save a town from death 
by flood. After reading the first two poems in this chapter, 
decide in each case whether the balance of honor is evenly 
divided or whether the horse is the hero. 

The first of these two poems is by Mrs. Norton, an Eng- The Kini 
lish poet of the last generation. The king and his thirty ^^^^^^ 
nobles mount in hot haste, and away they start for the Ride, 
castle where the king's betrothed lies dying. The nobles P- ^^' 
are beaten one by one; only the king and his little fair 
page win through. Even the page drops now, and the king 
rides in alone. His charger has strained every nerve, but 
it is too late. The king comes back into the courtyard. 
Choking with grief, he bows his head on the horse's 
neck. 



J 5 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

How they The sccond poem is by Browning. It tells of a ride 
broughtthe ^^^^ ^^^^ G^^T,i, in the Netherlands, to Aix-la-Chapelle, 

Good News 

from Ghent in France, to bring word of the treaty, — a piece of news 

to Aix, ^. •£ jj^ time, would save Aix from being burned by her 

p. 20. 

own despairing citizens. Historically there was never such 

a ride, but the story is so magnificently told that there 
really ought to have been such an incident. According to 
Browning there were three messengers, — Joris, Dirck, and 
the unnamed man who tells the tale. They start at mid- 
night and ride steadily till the next afternoon. They pass 
town after town, — Lokeren, Boom, Diiffeld, Mecheln, 
Aershot, Hasselt, Looz, Tongres, Dalhem, — Dirck and 
Joris dropping out by the way, until at last the horse 
Roland gallops into Aix, and his hatless, bootless, beltless 
rider knows no more. When he comes to himself he is 
sitting on the ground, with Roland's head in his lap. He 
calls for wine to give the horse. Aix has used up her wine 
in the siege; but somehow a single last precious measure is 
found, and the burgesses instantly vote that it belongs to 
Roland. 

The dog has fared in poetry almost as well as the horse. 
Even Homer, whose Greeks are always praising their swift 
steeds, introduces a dog at one of the most dramatic mo- 
ments of the "Odyssey." After Ulysses has endured every 
manner of peril by land and sea, and managed to get back 
home, no one recognizes him without help except his old 
dog Argos. " He wagged his tail and dropped both ears, 
but toward his master had not strength to move." That 
Shakspere has little to say about dogs is perhaps due to 
the difficulty of introducing them on the stage. Tennyson 
has an old Rover — " Owd Roa " — who saves a child's life 
in the smoke of the burning building, and is in turn saved 
by his master. Telling his rescued boy how it happened, 
the old farmer says : — ■ 



THE NOBILITY OF ANIMALS ly 

" Sa I browt tha down, an' I says * I mun 

Gaw up agean fur Roa.' 
• Gaw up agean fur the varmint ? ' 

I tell'd 'er 'Yeas I mun goa.' " 

Both Tennyson and Browning were bitterly opposed to 
vivisection — cutting into a live creature to observe the 
effect of drugs upon it, or to settle questions of anatomy. 
At times vivisection has furnished knowledge whereby 
human life has been saved; at other times it has been a 
profitless cruelty. Browning's poem called Tray is an Tray, p. 23, 
extremely sharp satire on vivisection. The poet represents 
himself as asking a group of friends to sing him the story 
of some real hero. One begins to recount a deed of Sir 
Olaf, the good knight; the poet cuts him short. A second 
starts to praise some hero not so righteous as Sir Olaf; the 
poet will not listen to him either. A third begins to speak 
of a beggar child who fell from a quay into the water. The 
poet is interested and attends. The bystanders on the quay 
did not come to the child's assistance; their lives were too 
precious to their families to be risked. A dog, however, 
jumped in, saved the child with difficulty, and then returned 
for the little one's doll, much to the amusement of the 
rational beings who looked on. Convinced that the second 
rescue was an absurd, a merely instinctive act, one by- 
stander sent off to catch the animal and have its brain vivi- 
sected, to see how dog's brain secretes dog's soul! 

Sir Walter Scott was a great lover of animals; a list of 
noble dogs and horses could be made from his novels. 
The poem called Helvellyn concerns the heroism of a little Helvellyn, 
terrier. Scott climbed the great mountain Helvellyn, in P- ^5- 
the English lake region, — how well the present writer re- 
members doing the same thing because Sir Walter wrote 
this poem, — and saw the place where, in 1805, a young 
man perished, and where, three months later, his body 



ig STUDY OF LITERATURE 

was found, guarded by the faithful dog. They have raised 
a cairn of stones on the spot now; but Wordsworth's poem 
Fidelity and Scott's Helvellyn are the lasting memorials of 
that dumb hero. 



THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE 
Caroline Elizabeth S. Norton 

Word was brought to the Danish king 

(Hurry !) 
That the love of his heart lay suffering, 
And pin'd for the comfort his voice would bring; 

(Oh ! ride as though you were flying !) 5 

Better he loves each golden curl 
On the brow of that Scandinavian girl 
Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl; 

And his rose of the isles is dying ! 

Thirty nobles saddled with speed, 10 

(Hurry !) 
Each one mounting a gallant steed 
Which he kept for battle and days of need; 

(Oh ! ride as though you were flying !) 

2. Does Hurry rhyme with any word ? Does it increase the speed of the 
poem? 3. Ordinarily where do you accent suffering? What two accents 
fall on this word in the poem ? It is not good poetic art to force an un- 
natural accent upon a word. 5. This line closes without an accent. Such 
a line is said to have a feminine ending. In lines 5 and 9 do the feminine 
endings hasten or retard the motion of the poem ? 9. Having read the 
stanza aloud, do you find the metre rapid enough to suggest a swift ride ? 
10. Note where the accents fall : Thirty nobles saddled with speed. Let 
us mark the unaccented syllables thus ^. Then we have: Thirty n6bles 
saddled with speed. Take your pencil and mark all the accented and 
unaccented syllables in the second stanza. You will find four accents 
to the line, and will recognize the metre as tetrameter (see page 13). 



THE NOBILITY OF ANIMALS 



19 



Spurs were struck in the foaming flank; 15 

Worn-out chargers stagger'd and sank; 
Bridles were slacken'd, and girths were burst; 
But ride as they would, the king rode first, 
For his rose of the isles lay dying ! 

His nobles are beaten, one by one; 20 

(Hurry !) 
They have fainted, and falter' d, and homeward gone; 
His little fair page now follows alone. 

For strength and for courage trying. 
The king look'd back at that faithful child; 25 

Wan was the face that answering smil'd; 
They passed the drawbridge with clattering din, 
Then he dropp'd; and only the king rode in 

Where his rose of the isles lay dying ! 

The king blew a blast on his bugle horn; 30 

(Silence !) 
No answer came; but faint and forlorn 
An echo return 'd on the cold gray morn. 

Like the breath of a spirit sighing. 
The castle portal stood grimly wide; 35 

None welcom'd the king from that weary ride; 
For dead, in the light of the dawning day. 
The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, 

Who had yearn' d for his voice while dying! 

The panting steed, with a drooping crest, 40 

Stood weary. 
The king return' d from her chamber of rest, 
The thick sobs choking in his breast; 
And, that dumb companion eying, 

25-26. What tra't of the king is suggested ? 



20 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

The tears gush'd forth which he strove to check; 45 

He bowed his head on his charger's neck: 
" O steed — that every nerve didst strain, 
Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain 

To the halls where my love lay dying ! " 

45. What trait of the king ? In a few words sketch the character of 
the king as you now know it. 

Has the poem unity — is all about one event ? Has it climax — that is, 
does it become steadily more interesting ? Is it clear, easy to understand ? 
Has it a good deal of force — that is, does it stir the feehngs ? Do you 
learn anything about the horse except that it was swift and sympathetic ? 



HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM 
GHENT TO AIX 

Robert Browning 

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; 

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; 

"Good speed! " cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; 

"Speed ! " echoed the wall to us galloping through; 

Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, 5 

And into the midnight we galloped abreast. 

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace 

Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; 

I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, 

I. Name the metre according to the number of accents (see p. 13). 
2. Does this line suggest a gallop? Would it be more like a gallop if, 
instead oi DLrck, the word were andf Mark the accented and unaccented 
syllables in this line ; it begins with an accented syllable. Turn back to 
the first stanza of Mrs. Norton's poem and see if any lines begin with an 
unaccented syllable. Which of the two poems is the more suggestive of a 
gallop? 8. Why is this line difficult to say rapidly? When said rapidly 
and well, does it help or hinder our getting the poet's thought? 



THE NOBILITY OF ANIMALS 2 1 

Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, 10 
Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit, 
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. 

'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near 

Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; 

At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; 15 

At Diiffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be; 

And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime, 

So, Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time! " 

At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, 

And against him the cattle stood black every one, 20 

To stare thro' the mist at us galloping past, 

And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last. 

With resolute shoulders, each butting away 

The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray : 

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back 25 
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; 
And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance 
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance! 
And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon 
His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. 30 

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur! 

Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her. 

We'll remember at Aix " — for one heard the quick wheeze 

II. Hard or easy to pronounce? Was the action itself hard or easy? 
12. Hard or easy to pronounce? Do lines 11 and 12 make a good contrast 
between the horse's action and the man's? 25-30. Would not these lines 
be more pleasant to the ear if there were fewer monosyllables and more 
such polysyllables as steadily, resolute, galloper, gallopi7ig, Joris, yellow, 
shoulders f 



22 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Of her chest, saw the stretch' d neck and staggering knees, 
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, 35 

As down on her haunches she shudder 'd and sank. 

So, we were left galloping, Joris and I, 

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; 

The broad sun above laugh' d a pitiless laugh, 

'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; 40 

Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white. 

And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight! 

"How they'll greet us ! " — and all in a moment his roan 
RoU'd neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; 
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight 45 

Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, 
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, 
And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. 

Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall, 

Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, 50 

Stood up in the stirrup, lean'd, patted his ear, 

Call'd my Roland his pet name, my horse without peer; 

Clapp'd my hands, laugh'd and sang, any noise, bad or 

good. 
Till at length into Aix Roland gallop 'd and stood. 

And all I remember is, friends flocking round 55 

As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground; 
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, 

34-36. Do these lines suggest by their movement the action of the 
horse? 37-42. Compare this stanza in speed with that beginning at line 25. 
43-44. Do these lines suggest the fall of the horse? 49-54. Which is the 
quickest line? Why? 

Having read the poem, say whatever you can concerning the character 
of Roland, quoting every word on which you base your inferences. Has 
the poem unity? climax? clearness? force? 



THE NOBILITY OF ANIMALS 



23 



As I pour'd down his throat our last measure of wine, 
Which, the burgesses voted by common consent, 59 

Was no more than his due who brought good news from 
Ghent. 

TRAY 

Robert Browning 

Sing me a hero ! Quench my thirst 
Of soul, ye bards ! 

Quoth Bard the first: 
" Sir Olaf , the good knight, did don 
His helm and eke his habergeon "... 
Sir Olaf and his bard ! 

"That sin-scathed brow" (quoth Bard the second), 

"That eye wide ope as though Fate beckoned 

My hero to some steep, beneath 

Which precipice smiled tempting death "... 10 

You too without your host have reckoned ! 

" A beggar-child " (let's hear this third 1) 

"Sat on a quay's edge : like a bird 

Sang to herself at careless play. 

And fell into the stream. 'Dismay! ^5 

Help, you the standers-by ! ' None stirred. 

" Bystanders reason, think of wives 

And children ere they risk their lives. 

Over the balustrade has bounced 

A mere instinctive dog, and pounced 20 

Plumb on the prize. 'How well he dives! 

1-3. Whose words? 5. habergeon, a coat of mail (hab'erjon). 
15. 'Distnayf Help, you the standers-by!' The Third Bard is exclaiming 
this as he thinks of the scene. 



^. STUDY OF LITERATURE 

"'Up he comes with the child, see, tight 

In mouth, alive too, clutched from quite 

A depth of ten feet — twelve, I bet ! 

Good dog! What, off again? There's yet 25 

Another child to save ? All right ! 

" ' How strange we saw no other fall ! 

It's instinct in the animal. 

Good dog! But he's a long while under: 

If he got drowned I should not wonder — * 30 

Strong current, that against the wall ! 

"' Here he comes, holds in mouth this time 

— What may the thing be? Well, that's prime ! 

Now, did you ever ? Reason reigns 

In man alone, since all Tray's pains 35 

Have fished — the child's doll from the slime! ' 

" And so, amid the laughter gay. 

Trotted my hero off, — old Tray, — 

Till somebody, prerogatived 

With reason, reasoned: 'Why he dived, 4° 

His brain would show us, I should say. 

" ' John, go and catch — or, if needs be, 

Purchase — that animal for me ! 

By vivisection, at expense 

Of half an hour and eighteenpence, 45 

How brain secretes dog's soul, we'll see ! ' " 



39. prerogatived with reason — privileged (to say so and so) . 

Having read the poem, do you find the metre smooth and flowing, or 
abrupt and difficult? Name it according to number of accents (see p. 13). 
Has the poem unity? climax? perfect clearness? force? 



THE NOBILITY OF ANIMALS 25 

HELVELLYN 
Sir Walter Scott 

I climb' d the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, 

Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty and 
wide; 
All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling, 

And starting around me the echoes replied. 
On the right, Striden-edge round the Redtarn was bending, 
And Catchedicam its left verge was defending. 6 

One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, 

When I mark'd the sad spot where the wanderer had died. 

Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain-heather, 
Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretch' d in decay, 10 
Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather. 
Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay. 
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended. 
For, faithful in death, his mute favorite attended, 
The much-loved remains of her master defended, 15 

And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. 

How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber? 

When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou 
start ? 
How many long days and long weeks didst thou number, 

Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart? 20 
And oh! was it meet, that — no requiem read o'er him — 

I. Trimeter, tetrameter, pentameter, hexameter, or heptameter? 2. Mas- 
culine or feminine ending? 3. A very bad rhyme. 5. Masculine or 
feminine ending? 8. Is the variety of endings in this stanza pleasant? 
10. Pilgrim of Nature evidently means that the young man who was lost 
had been in the habit of taking solitary rambles to study nature. 



26 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, 
And thou, little guardian, alone stretch'd before him — 
Unhonor'd the Pilgrim from life should depart? 

When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded, 25 
The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall; 

With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded. 
And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : 

Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are 
gleaming; 

In the proudly-arch' d chapel the banners are beaming, 30 

Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming. 
Lamenting a Chief of the people should fall. 

But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature. 

To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb. 
When, wilder' d, he drops from some cliff huge in stature. 

And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. 36 

And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying. 
Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying. 
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying. 

In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam. 40 

35. wilder' d, bewildered. Stature, nature, an imperfect, but not un- 
pleasant rhyme. 

Enumerate the sounds suggested in this poem. What two pictures 
does Scott contrast? 



Plan of Summary. — Reviewing the chapter, ( i ) enumerate the 
kinds of metre, naming them merely by the number of accents in the line. 
Then (2) say which poem is most noticeable for melody; (3) which 
for beauty of suggested sights; (4) which for pleasure of suggested 
sounds; (5) which for pleasure of suggested activity; (6) which is 
most easily understood; (7) which moves the reader most deeply; 
(8) which shows most skill in character drawing; (9) which, your 
critical judgment tells you, is the best piece of work; (10) which you 
like the best, — without regard to its deserved rank, or its fame. 



CHAPTER II 
THE HEROISM OF WAR 

Whether righteous or unrighteous, every war is a terrible 
thing. The boy dreams of it, is haunted by the thought of 
it, dreads it. He imagines himself leading forlorn hopes, 
sustaining hideous wounds, or meeting death with fortitude ; 
but he thanks his stars when he remembers that he is not yet 
called to arms. It is therefore extraordinary that, when war 
actually breaks out, boys are not slow to enlist. They be- 
come different persons. Reserve powers, that not even they 
suspected, have been called out. Yesterday they thought 
death the most horrible thing in the world; to-day they 
regard it as an incident. Suppose they die ; they will do 
their duty first. If they cannot control death, they will defy 
him ; put them in a hopeless fight, and they will sell their 
lives as dearly as possible. This defiance of the uncontrol- 
lable we call sublimity of character. 

Emerson's lines beginning, " In an Age of Fops and Toys," 
remind us that a possibility of the sublime is in every boy. 

So nigh is grandeur to our dust, 
So near is God to man, 
When Duty whispers low, Thou must, 
The Youth replies, / can. 

This was often demonstrated in i860, in the case of tender 
boys who, as Emerson elsewhere puts it, " had never en- 
countered any rougher play than a baseball match." 

Once in the war, the youth has no lack of chances to live 
the same first experience over. One day he is a common- 

27 



28 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

place soldier, the next, a hero. Perhaps he is anything but 
the educated and refined youth of Emerson's thought, and 
yet have splendid possibilities. The British soldier, as Mr. 
Kipling has shown him to us, is rather a rough piece of 
humanity, even when he is fighting for " The Widow." The 
The first poem in this chapter, by Sir Francis Doyle, exhibits 

Private of exactly this kind of fellow, poor, reckless, rude, low-born, 

the Buffs, ^ J L i 

p. 34. untaught, who last night jested, quaffed, and swore, but 

who to-day would not flinch, though torn limb from limb. 
He dies like a Spartan, for his soul is great. 

He probably would deny that he is brave. Emerson 
writes as follows in his essay on Courage : — 

" I knew a young soldier who died in the early campaign, 
who confided to his sister that he had made up his mind to 
volunteer for the war. ' I have not,' he said, ' any proper 
courage, but I shall never let any one find it out.' And he 
had accustomed himself always to go into whatever place of 
danger, and do whatever he was afraid to do, setting a 
dogged resolution to resist this natural infirmity." 

If the young soldier must fight, he prefers to charge. 

When elbow touches elbow in a double-quick, or stirrup 

grazes stirrup in a gallop, then nobody stops to reckon the 

The chances of coming out alive. Mr. Edmund Clarence Sted- 

theTf \° ^^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^^^ Lord Tennyson have celebrated the glorious 

Brigade, rush of the cavalry charge. The incident of the latter's 

P' 3 ■ poem is historic, belonging to the Crimean War, where 

dogged English met savage Russians. Six hundred British 

horsemen charged what was practically an army ; a few came 

back. 

The Enghsh soldier is good at this kind of thing. He has 

no serious objection to fighting against a few odds, and he 

is said not to know when he is beaten. A braver deed than 

Revef? e ^^ charge of the light brigade was the attack made by a 

p. 38. single English ship, the Revenge, on fifty-three galleons of 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 20 

the Spanish Armada. Sir Walter Raleigh, a cousin of Sir 
Richard Grenville, who commanded the Revenge, has a 
fine prose account of the exploit, and Tennyson, keeping 
very close to the facts, has written on the same subject one 
of the best of war ballads. It seems that when the Span- 
iards were reported to Sir Richard at Flores, in the Azores, 
there were five other English ships with him, under com- 
mand of Lord Thomas Howard. This gentleman had the 
reputation of a brave soldier, but he was no Grenville; so 
he got away with his five ships, to mend them for a battle. 
Grenville, delaying to bring his sick aboard, could not 
escape meeting the enemy. He made straight at the gal- 
leons, fought them for a day and a night, sank some and 
shattered many, and yielded only when wounded to the 
death. 

Fighting is not the only duty of war. Sometimes it is a 
soldier's business to stand very still and be shot at. Some- 
times it is to bear privation or disease gracefully. Some- 
times it is to wait for months for reenforcements, as Gordon 
waited at Khartoum, only to lose his life by his govern- 
ment's delay. Waiting to be rescued is not always blessed 
by such relief as came to the British soldiers shut up in 
Lucknow. Robert Lowell and Whittier have both sung 
that story, with its honorable mention of the Highland girl 
whose keen ear caught the sound of the Highland pipes 
before any one else in that despairing garrison could hear 
them. Sometimes it is a soldier's business to die as those 
of the Birkenhead died, whom Sir Francis Doyle has com- 
memorated. The Birkenhead went on the rocks of the 
African coast, in 1852. Five hundred persons — soldiers 
and their families — were on board, besides the crew. The 
water was full of sharks. The soldiers were marshalled on 
deck and stood at attention while the women and children 
were carried ashore in the boats. The ship did not hold 



30 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Soldier and 
Sailor Too, 
p. 47. 

Midship- 
man Lan- 
yon, p. 48. 



TheDrums 
of the Fore 
and Aft, 
p. 49. 



'Incident of 
the French 
Camp, 
p. 81. 



together long, but when she keeled over and went down, 
nearly all the soldiers were still standing at attention. 

This "disciplined heroism," as Lowell termed it, has 
come to be called "the Birkenhead drill." When the 
magnificent new battleship Victoria capsized, a few years 
ago, the Birkenhead drill was easily enforced. Admiral, 
officers, and marines went down together. Mr. Kipling 
wrote a dialect poem celebrating the behavior of the ma- 
rines on this occasion, and Mr. Watts-Dunton made a 
noble sonnet on the conduct of two officers, one of the 
highest rank in the service, the other of the lowest, who 
stood shoulder to shoulder at the wheel. 

Such deeds as these tax the courage of the bravest, but 
it must be remembered that one ship is not one man. 
Courage is contagious. Probably it is easier to die with 
many than venture alone against a few. Even the superb 
exploit of rallying an army by the sound of fife and drum, 
an exploit achieved by the two boys in Mr. Kipling's story, 
would hardly have been dared by one alone. There is 
nothing in fiction more stirring than the account of how 
these fourteen-year-old gamins, the very scourings of the 
street, watched with disgust the flight of their regiment 
before the terrible Afghan knives, and then sallied out 
across an exposed valley, within easy range of hundreds of 
Martinis, to see if their discordant little strains of music 
might not save the day. That music did save the day, 
though both drummers had to seal the bargain with their 
lives. Into this act there entered several elements : first, the 
inborn heroic courage which distinguished these little mar- 
tyrs; then the pride and confidence that grows out of com- 
radeship; and lastly, I regret to say, the fumes of a certain 
amount of canteen rum. Lonely and fine as this bravery 
was. Browning's Incident of the French Camp exploits a 
lonelier and finer bravery as it appeared in a boy of the 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



31 



Napoleonic wars. He rode alone on a dangerous mission to 
acquaint the emperor with the fall of Ratisbon, an important 
post of the enemy. He made his report in erect military 
fashion, and the despondent Napoleon was instantly encour- 
aged in his plans — they soared up again like fire. But 
presently the keen eye of the great man perceived that the 
lad was hurt. "You're wounded!" "Nay, I'm killed, 
sire," replied the proud boy, as he fell at his emperor's 
feet. 

The last poem by Browning in this chapter indicates the Herv6 
worth of the unassuming hero, and the many kinds of skil- 
ful individual service required in war. In the English war 
with the French, 1692, a French squadron was almost 
chased ashore at Saint-Malo. It begged for harbor, but 
the pilots of the place declared that ships of such burthen 
could not clear the rocks at the narrow river mouth. In 
this dilemma a simple Breton sailor, Herv^ Riel, offered to 
get the squadron safely in or forfeit his head. The com- 
mander, Damfreville, let him try. Riel saved the twenty- 
two ships, and would take no other reward than release from 
the service for the rest of his life. Browning, who likes to 
sharpen dramatic effects, makes him ask and get nothing 
but a single holiday. 

It is fine to see what a high sense of loyalty is developed 
in war. At the very time when camp and field are ruining 
many of the soldiers, turning them into cruel, profane, and 
drunken brutes, the sense of duty to the flag is the last 
quality of character to degenerate. A deserter is a rare 
thing, whether in an Anglo-Saxon or in a Spanish army. 
Mr. Gerald Massey makes use of the soldier's hatred for Cause, 
desertion to exhibit the detestable quality of a deserter from P- ^9- 
any cause. 

In the account of the Birkenhead we had a story of pas- 
sive heroism, noble endurance. Two poems in this chapter 



32 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Heather 
Ale, p. 90. 



Adam of 
Gordon, 
P-93- 



A Plan- 
tation 
Heroine, 
p. 96. 

Decora- 
tion, p. 103. 



The Angels 
of Buena 
Vista, p. 98. 



exhibit endurance unhelped by the stimulus of comradeship. 
The old man in Stevenson's ballad refuses to disclose to 
the enemy the secret of the famous ale, though they slay his 
son and torture him. Pretending that he hesitates to de- 
base himself before his son by treacherously giving up the 
secret, he advises the enemy to drown the boy. When 
this is done he stifles his paternal anguish, and declares 
that he feared the boy's ability to keep the secret. The 
child is silent forever, and torture of the father will be in 
vain. Adam Gordon's lady, in the folk ballad, gives her 
own life and those of her bairns rather than surrender the 
castle to her husband's enemy. The passive heroism of 
woman is greater than that of man. Woman is timid in 
little matters, but intrepid in great. ^ 

Women are as brave in war time in our own century as 
they ever were in the past. Mr. Eggleston, once a Con- 
federate soldier, tells how women starved themselves to 
furnish food for the Confederate army. Mr. Higginson, 
once a Union soldier, declares that she who, staying un- 
complainingly at home, sent her husband and sons to war, 
was the bravest of the brave. The courage of the army 
nurse, who faces pestilence and death, has been sung again 
and again. Longfellow, among other poets, wrote of 
Florence Nightingale, whose shadow the soldiers kissed. 
Whittier sang of the Mexican women who worked on the 
field of Buena Vista. In his note on the subject he says: 
"A letter-writer from Mexico states that, at the terrible 
fight of Buena Vista, Mexican women were seen hovering 
near the field of death, for the purpose of giving aid and 

1 When the ill-fated French liner, the Bozir^ogfte, went down, July 4, 
1898, one woman was saved; nearly two hundred men saved themselves. 
Of the scores of women who were left to drown, two were members of the 
Lewis Institute, — Miss Evelyn Reeves, one of the faculty, and Miss Frances 
Hess, a student-teacher. All the survivors admitted that the women be- 
haved very calmly and bravely. 



THE HEROISM OF WAR ^^ 

succor to the wounded. One poor woman was found sur- 
rounded by the maimed and suffering of both armies, min- 
istering to the wants of Americans as well as Mexicans, 
with impartial tenderness." 

There is something inexpressibly sad in a soldier's burial 
in a foreign land. He has fought for his country and his 
family, but these are denied the consolation of burying 
him. Tennyson, grieving for his friend Arthur Hallam, 
the wonderful youth who died at twenty-three, is partly 
consoled when the ship brings Arthur home : — 

'Tiswell; 'tis something; we may stand 

Where he in EngUsh earth is laid. 

And from his ashes may be made 
The violet of his native land. 

But it is rarely thus with the soldier or the sailor. The one, The Burial 
like Sir John Moore, of whose sad fate in Spain Charles ofSirjohi 

Moore, 

Wolfe wrote, is buried darkly at dead of night, and left p. 104.' 
alone, afar. The other's 

heavy-shotted hammock-shroud 
Drops in his vast and wandering grave. 

Tears for such a death cannot be too bitter if the cause 
the soldier fought for was unrighteous. But the soldier of 
a good cause cannot be killed. His body may moulder, 
but his soul goes marching on. A thousand will rally to 
the flag he tried to protect. When America was forced to 
free herself from England, there were two Englands, one 
of George the Third and one of Chatham. The second of 
these was the sane England, and Chatham told the truth 
when he shouted, " You cannot, my lords, you cannot con- 
quer America." It is a pity that the British regulars had 
to die for the first of these two Englands. Lowell, standing 
beside the grave of a British soldier, at Concord, reflects 
thus : — 

D 



24 STUDY OF LITERATURE . 

These men were brave enough, and true 
To the hired soldier's bull-dog creed; 
What brought them here they never knew, 
They fought as suits the English breed; 
They came three thousand miles, and died, 
To keep the Past upon its throne; 
Unheard, beyond the ocean tide. 
Their English mother made her moan. 



Concord gut the king and Lord North did not hear the shot, 

p/107.' which, Emerson tells us, was heard round the world. They 
did not understand that embattled farmers, fighting any- 
where for their homes and justice, will dare to die and 
leave their children free. Strangely enough, the English 
whose grandfathers belonged to the side of Lord North 
could not understand, before 1865, that Americans have 
something more than dollars to fight for. Says Lowell, 
in his delightful essay. On a Certain Condescension in 
Foreigners: "Till after our Civil War it never seemed to 
enter the head of any foreigner, especially of an English- 
man, that an American had what could be called a country, 
except as a place to eat, sleep, and trade in. Then it 
seemed to strike them suddenly. 'By Jove, you know, 
fellahs don't fight like that for a shop-till! ' No, I rather 
think not." 



THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS 
Sir Francis Hastings Doyle 

Last night, among his fellow-roughs, 
He jested, quaff 'd, and swore : 

A drunken private of the Buffs, 
Who never look'd before. 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



35 



To-day, beneath the foeman's frown, 5 

. He stands in Elgin's place, 
Ambassador from Britain's crown, 
And type of all her race. 

Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught, 

Bewilder'd, and alone, 10 

A heart, with English instinct fraught, 

He yet can call his own. 
Ay, tear his body Hmb from limb, 

Bring cord, or axe, or flame ; 
He only knows, that not through him 15 

Shall England come to shame. 

Far Kentish hop-fields round him seem'd. 

Like dreams, to come and go ; 
Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleam'd, 

One sheet of living snow ; 20 

The smoke, above his father's door. 

In gray soft eddyings hung : 
Must he then watch it rise no more, 

Doom'd by himself, so young? 

Yes, honor calls ! — with strength like steel 25 

He put the vision by. 
Let dusky Indians whine and kneel ; 

An English lad must die. 

Note the metre : there are eight syllables in the line, with four accents. 
That gives four feet, thus: ^ ' I w' I w' I w' I • I" each foot the un- 
accented syllable comes first, and the foot is therefore an iambus (see p. 
13). The verses are alternately iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter. 

Note the rhyme-scheme ; it may be marked algebraically thus : a b a b, 
c d c d. 

6. Lord Elgin (the ^ is hard) was a famous English ambassador. 16. In 
a few words describe the physical appearance and bearing of the hero from 
what you have thus far read. 24. Does this third stanza contain any sugges- 
tion of sounds? What colors are there in the soft Kentish landscape ? 



^6 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

And thus, with eyes that would not shrink, 

With knee to man unbent, • 30 

Unfaltering on its dreadful brink, 
To his red grave he went. 

Vain, mightiest fleets, of iron fram'd; 

Vain, those all-shattering guns; 
Unless proud England keep, untam'd, 35 

The strong heart of her sons. 
So, let his name through Europe ring — 

A man of mean estate, 
Who died, as firm as Sparta's king, 

Because his soul was great. 40 

32. What is the strongest adjective in the fourth stanza ? 

Select from the entire poem all the words that appeal to the sense of 
muscular tension. Which of the following adjectives best describes the 
tone of the poem — vigorous, pleasing, rugged, stirring, charming? 



THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE 

r 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

Half a league, half a league. 

Half a league onward. 
All in the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 
" Forward, the Light Brigade ! s 

Charge for the guns! " he said: 
Into the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 

I. Dimeter, trimeter, tetrameter, pentameter, hexameter, or heptameter? 
Trochaic or dactyllic? (See p. 13.) 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 37 

" Forward, the Light Brigade ! " 

Was there a man dismay 'd? 10 

Not tho' the soldier knew 

Some one had blunder'd: 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs but to do and die : 15 

Into the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, 

Cannon to left of them. 

Cannon in front of them 20 

Volley' d and thunder' d; 
Storm' d at with shot and shell, 
Boldly they rode and well. 
Into the jaws of Death, 
Into the mouth of Hell 25 

Rode the six hundred. 

Flash'd all their sabres bare, 

Flash'd as they turn'd in air 

Sabring the gunners there. 

Charging an army, while 3© 

All the world wonder' d : 
Plunged in the battery-smoke 
Right thro' the line they broke; 
Cossack and Russian 
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke 35 

Shatter' d and sunder' d. 
Then they rode back, but not — 

Not the six hundred. 

14-16, 19-21, 27-29, 39-41, 53-54. Are the repetitions pleasing ?^ Do 
they hasten the movement? 34-36. Why does this stanza have extra lines? 



38 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Cannon to right of them, 

Cannon to left of them, 40 

Cannon behind them 

Volley 'd and thunder' d; 
Storm 'd at with shot and shell, 
While horse and hero fell, 
They that had fought so well 45 

Came thro' the jaws of Death, 
Back from the mouth of Hell, 
All that was left of them. 

Left of six hundred. 

When can their glory fade? 50 

O the wild charge they made ! 

All the world wonder' d. 
Honor the charge they made ! 
Honor the Light Brigade, 

Noble six hundred. 55 



THE REVENGE 

a ballad of the fleet 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

I 

At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay, 

And a pinnace, like a flutter'd bird, came flying from far 

away : 
"Spanish ships of war at sea ! we have sighted fifty-three ! " 

I. Dimeter, trimeter, tetrameter, pentameter, hexameter, or heptameter? 
What is the predominant foot ? (See p. 13.) i. Flores has two syllables. 
2. Pinnace, here a sailboat. 3, 4, 5, 6, etc. Note the rhyme in the middle 
of the line — medial rhyme. In reading, pause a bit after each rhyme. 
What unpleasant effect would be given if the half-lines were printed as 
lines? Note that we enjoy these rhymes in poetry, though spoken by sailors, 
whereas we should laugh at them in real conversation. 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



39 



Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: "'Fore God I am no 

coward; 
But I can not meet them here, for my ships are out of 

gear, 5 

And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick. 
We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three? " 

II 

Then spake Sir Richard Grenville : " I know you are no 

coward ; 
You fly them for a moment to fight with them again. 
But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore. lo 
I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord 

Howard, 
To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain." 

Ill 

So Lord Howard past away with five ships of war that day, 
Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven; 
But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the 

land IS 

Very carefully and slow, 
Men of Bideford in Devon, 
And we laid them on the ballast down below; 
For we brought them all aboard. 
And. they blest him in their pain, that they were not left 

to Spain, 20 

To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord. 



7. Ships of the line, warships large enough for the line of battle. 
12. Inquisition: the Spanish Inquisition was a Roman Catholic tribunal for 
punishing heretics. Devildoms seems to be a vague uncomplimentary 
name for Spanish localities. 16-17. Why are these lines short? 17. Devon 
has a short e. 20-21. Why are the lines long, as before? 



40 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



IV 

He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to 

fight, 
And he sail'd away from Flores till the Spaniard came in 

sight, 
With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow. 
"Shall we fight or shall we fly? 25 

Good Sir Richard, tell us now, 
For to fight is but to die ! 

There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be set." 
And Sir Richard said again : " We be all good English men. 
Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children of the 

devil, 30 

For I never turn'd my back upon Don or devil yet." 

V 

Sir Richard spoke and he laugh 'd, and we roar'd a hurrah, 

and so 
The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe. 
With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick 

below; 
For half of their fleet to the right and half to the left were 

seen, 35 

And the little Revenge ran on thro' the long sea-lane between. 

VI 

Thousands of their soldiers look'd down from their decks 

and laugh' d, 
Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little 

craft 
Running on and on, till delay' d 

24. Weather bow means the side toward the wind. 25-27. Why are 
these Hnes short? 30. Seville always rhymes with devil. 31. Don, a 
Spanish nobleman. 36. Why are there no short lines in this stanza? 
39. Why a short line? 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



41 



By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred 
tons, 40 

And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of 
guns, 

Took the breath from our sails, and we stay'd. 

VII 

And while now the great San Philip hung above us like a 

cloud 
Whence the thunderbolt will fall 

Long and loud, 45 

Four galleons drew away 
From the Spanish fleet that day, 

And two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay, 
And the battle-thunder broke from them all. 

VIII 

But anon the great San Philip, she bethought herself and 
went 50 

Having that within her womb that had left her ill content; 

And the rest they came aboard us, and they fought us hand 
to hand. 

For a dozen times they came with their pikes and musketeers. 

And a dozen times we shcfok 'em off as a dog that shakes 
his ears 

When he leaps from the water to the land. 55 

IX 

And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the 

summer sea. 
But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the 

fifty-three. 

44-45. Why short lines? 46. Galleofts, large Spanish ships. 46-47. Do 
these short lines suggest the gradual process of drawing away? 



42 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built 
galleons came. 

Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battle- 
thunder and flame; 

Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with 
her dead and her shame. 60 

For some were sunk and many were shatter 'd, and so could 
fight us no more — 

God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world 
before ? 



For he said " Fight on ! fight on ! " 

Tho' his vessel was all but a wreck; 

And it chanced that, when half of the short summer night 

was gone, 65 

With a grisly wound to be drest he had left the deck, 
But a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead, 
And himself he was wounded again in the side and the 

head, 
And he said "Fight on! fight on! " 

XI 

And the night went down, and the sun smiled out far over 
the summer sea, 70 

And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all in 
a ring; 

But they dared not touch us again, for they fear'd that we 
still could sting. 

So they watch' d what the end would be. 

And we had not fought them in vain, 

But in perilous plight were we, 75 

Seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain, 

And half of the rest of us maim'd for life 



THE HEROISM OF WAR *>> 

In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife; 
And the sick men down in the hold were most of them stark 

and cold, 
And the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder 

was all of it spent; 80 

And the masts and the rigging were lying over the side; 
But Sir Richard cried in his English pride, 
" We have fought such a fight for a day and a night 
As may never be fought again ! 

We have won great glory, my men ! 85 

And a day less or more 
At sea or ashore. 
We die — does it matter when? 
Sink me the ship, Master Gunner — sink her, split her in 

twain ! 
Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of Spain ! " 90 

XII 

And the gunner said "Ay, ay," but the seamen made reply: 

"We have children, we have wives, 

And the Lord hath spared our lives. 

We will make the Spanish promise, if we yield, to let us go; 

We shall live to fight again and to strike another blow." 95 

And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe. 

XIII 

And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore him 

then, 
Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard caught 

at last. 
And they praised him to his face with their courtly foreign 

grace; 
But he rose upon their decks, and he cried : 100 



44 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

" I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant man and 

true ; 
I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do : 
With a joyful spirit I Sir Richard Grenville die ! " 
And he fell upon their decks, and he died. 

XIV 

And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant 
and true 105 

And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap 
That he dared her with one little ship and his English few; 
Was he devil or man? He was devil for aught they knew, 
But they sank his body with honor down into the deep, 
And they mann'd the Revenge with a swarthier alien 
crew, no 

And away she sail'd with her loss and long'd for her own; 
When a wind from the lands they had ruin'd awoke from 

sleep, 
And the water began to heave and the weather to moan, 
And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew. 
And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earth- 
quake grew, 115 
Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts 

and their flags. 
And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shatter' d 

navy of Spain, 
And the little Revenge herself went down by the island 

crags 
To be lost evermore in the main. 



119. Which of the following adjectives and phrases may properly 
be applied to this poem : slow, simple in rhythm, complex in rhythm, swift, 
rushing, impetuous, swinging, heroic, stirring, pretty, dramatic, pleasing, 
thrilling? 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 45 



THE LOSS OF THE BIRKENHEAD 

supposed to be narrated by a soldier who survived 

Sir Francis Hastings Doyle 

Right on our flank the crimson sun went down, 

The deep sea rolled around in dark repose, 
When, like the wild shriek from some captured town, 
A cry of women rose. 

The stout ship Birkenhead lay hard and fast, 5 

Caught, without hope, upon a hidden rock; 
Her timbers thrilled as nerves, when through them passed 
The spirit of that shock. 

And ever like base cowards, who leave their ranks 

In danger's hour, before the rush of steel, 10 

Drifted away, disorderly, the planks 
From underneath her keel. 

Confusion spread, for, though the coast seemed near, 

Sharks hovered thick along that white sea-brink. 
The boats could hold? — not all; and it was clear 15 

She was about to sink. 

"Out with those boats, and let us haste away," 

Cried one, "ere yet yon sea the bark devours." 
The man thus clamoring was, I scarce need say, 

No officer of ours. 20 

We knew our duty better than to care 

For such loose babblers, and made no reply. 
Till our good colonel gave the word, and there 
Formed us in line to die. 



46 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

There rose no murmur from the ranks, no thought, 25 

By shameful strength, unhonored life to seek; 
Our post to quit we were not trained, nor taught 
To trample down the weak. 

So we made women with their children go, 

The oars ply back again, and yet again; 30 

Whilst, inch by inch, the drowning ship sank low, 
Still under steadfast men. 

What follows, why recall? The brave who died, 

Died without flinching in the bloody surf; 
They sleep as well, beneath that purple tide, 35 

As others, under turf ; — 

They sleep as well, and, roused from their wild grave, 

Wearing their wounds like stars, shall rise again. 
Joint-heirs with Christ, because they bled to save 

His weak ones, not in vain. 40 

If that day's work no clasp or medal mark, 

If each proud heart no cross of bronze may press, 
Nor cannon thunder loud from Tower and Park, 
This feel we, none the less : 

That those whom God's high grace there saved from ill — 45 

Those also, left His martyrs in the bay — 
Though not by siege, though not in battle, still 
Full well have earned their pay. 



43. London Tower and Hyde Park. 

Is the diction of this poem plainer, or more elaborate, than that of Tenny- 
son's The Revenge? Note the short closing line of each stanza. Exam- 
ine each to see whether some emphatic thought is thus expressed, or whether 
the line is a mere " tag " to the stanza. Is the poem calm in tone ? Should 
its tone have been other than it is ? 



T'HE HEROISM OF WAR 47 



SOLDIER AND SAILOR TOO ^ 

RuDYARD Kipling 

. . . They came of our lot, they was brothers to us; they 

was beggars we'd met and knew; 
Yes, barrin' an inch in the chest and the arms, they was 

doubles o' me and you; 
For they weren't no special chrysanthemums — soldier an' 

sailor too 1 

. . . We're most of us liars, we're 'arf of us thieves, an' the 

rest are as rank as can be. 
But once in a while we can finish in style (which I 'ope 

it won't 'appen to me). 5 

But it makes you think better o' you an' your friends, an' 

the work you may 'ave to do. 
When you think o' the sinkin' Victorier' s Jollies — soldier 

an' sailor too ! 
Now there isn't no room for to say ye don't know — they 

'ave proved it plain and true — 
That whether it's Widow, or whether it's ship, Victorier's 

work is to do. 
An' they done it, the Jollies — 'Er Majesty's Jollies — 

soldier and sailor too. ^o 



1 From The Sevett Seas, Copyright, 1896, by Rudyard Kipling. Quoted 
by special permission of the author and of the publishers, D. Appleton and 
Co. 



48 STUDY OF LITERATURE 



MIDSHIPMAN LANYONi 

Theodore Watts-Dunton 

" Midshipman Lanyon refused to leave the Admiral and perished." — 
Times, June 30, 1893. 

Our tears are tears of pride who see thee stand, 
Watching the great bows dip, the stern uprear, 
Beside thy chief, whose hope was still to steer, 

Though Fate had said, " Ye shall not win the land ! " 

What joy was thine to answer each command s 

From him calamity had made more dear, 
Save that which bade thee part when Death drew near, 

Till Tryon sank with Lanyon at his hand ! 

Death only and doom are sure : they come, they rend. 
But still the fight we make can crown us great : 10 

Life hath no joy like his who fights with Fate 

Shoulder to shoulder with a stricken friend : 
Proud are our tears for thee, most fortunate, 

Whose day, so brief, had such heroic end. 



1 Reprinted from " The Coming of Love, and Other Poems," by permis- 
sion of Mr. John Lane. 

How many lines has this poem ? Notice the curious rhyme-scheme : 
stand uprear steer laud, command dear near hand; rend great fate, 
friend fortunate end. Express it thus :abba, abba;cdd, cdc. A 
poem of fourteen lines rhyming thus is called a sonnet. A sonnet may 
rhyme in several other ways, but must consist of fourteen lines. Notice 
that the first eight lines are really complete in themselves (teUing the 
story) ; the first eight lines of a typical sonnet are called the octave. Notice 
that the last six lines are in a sense complete in themselves (dealing with 
a general thought suggested by Lanyon's fate) ; the last six hnes of a 
typical sonnet are called the sestet. 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 49 

THE DRUMS OF THE FORE AND AFT^ 

RuDYARD Kipling 

In the Army List they still stand as " The Fore and Fit 
Princess Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen-Auspach's Merthyr- 
Tydfilshire Own Royal Loyal Light Infantry, Regimental 
District 32 9 A," but the Army through all its barracks and 
canteens knows them now as the " Fore and Aft." They 5 
may in time do something that shall make their new title 
honorable, but at present they are bitterly ashamed, and 
the man who calls them " Fore and Aft " does so at the 
risk of the head which is on his shoulders. 

Two words breathed into the stables of a certain Cav- 10 
airy Regiment will bring the men out into the streets with 
belts and mops and bad language ; but a whisper of '' Fore 
and Aft " will bring out this regiment with rifles. 

Their one excuse is that they came again and did their 
best to finish the job in style. But for a time all their 15 
world knows that they were openly beaten, whipped, 
dumb-cowed, shaking, and afraid. The men know it; 
their officers know it; the Horse Guards know it, and 
when the next war comes the enemy will know it also. 
There are two or three regiments of the Line that have 20 
a black mark against their name which they will then 
wipe out ; and it will be excessively incomvenient for 
the troops upon whom they do their wiping. 

The courage of the British soldier is officially supposed 
to be above proof, and, as a general rule, it is so. The 25 

1 Mr. Kipling's style is somewhat elliptical, that is, takes a good deal of 
knowledge on the reader's part for granted; hence it must be read slowly. 
The necessity of abridging the piece somewhat (and of omitting here and 
there rough expressions of army life) makes it no easier for the reader to 
keep the thread of the story. 
E 



so 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



exceptions are decently shovelled out of sight, only to be 
referred to in the freshest of unguarded talk that occa- 
sionally swamps a Mess-table at midnight. Then one 
hears strange and horrible stories of men not following 
their officers, of orders being given by those who had no 3° 
right to give them, and of disgrace that, but for the stand- 
ing luck of the British Army, might have ended in brilliant 
disaster. These are unpleasant stories to listen to, and 
the Messes tell them under their breath, sitting by the big 
wood fires ; and the young officer bows his head and 35 
thinks to himself, please God, his men shall never behave 
unhandily. 

The British soldier is not altogether to be blamed for 
occasional lapses; but this verdict he should not know. 
A moderately intelligent General will waste six months 40 
in mastering the craft of the particular war that he may 
be waging; a Colonel may utterly misunderstand the 
capacity of his regiment for three months after it has 
taken the field; and even a Company Commander may 
err and be deceived as to the temper and temperament 45 
of his own handful : wherefore the soldier, and the soldier 
of to-day more particularly, should not be blamed for 
falling back. He should be shot or hanged afterwards 
— to encourage the others; but he should not be vilified 
in newspapers, for that is want of tact and waste of space. 50 

He has, let us say, been in the service of the Empress 
for, perhaps, four years. He will leave in another two 
years. He has no inherited morals, and four years are 
not sufficient to drive toughness into his fibre, or to teach 
him how holy a thing is his Regiment. He wants to 55 
drink, he wants to enjoy himself — in India he wants to 
save money — and he does not in the least like getting 
hurt. He has received just sufficient education to make 
him understand half the purport of the orders he receives, 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



51 



and to speculate on the nature of clean, incised, and 60 
shattering wounds. Thus, if he is told to deploy under 
fire preparatory to an attack, he knows that he runs a 
very great risk ot being killed while he is deploying, and 
suspects that he is being thrown away to gain ten min- 
utes' time. He may either deploy with desperate swift- 65 
ness, or he may shufBe, or bunch, or break, according 
to the discipline under which he has lain for four years. 

Armed with imperfect knowledge, cursed with the 
rudiments of an imagination, hampered by the intense 
selfishness of the lower classes, and unsupported by any 70 
regimental associations, this young man is suddenly in- 
troduced to an enemy who in eastern lands is always 
ugly, generally tall and hairy, and frequently noisy. If 
he looks to the right and the left and sees old soldiers 
— men of twelve years' service, who, he knows, know 75 
what they are about — taking a charge, rush, or demon- 
stration without embarrassment, he is consoled and 
applies his shoulder to the butt of his rifle with a stout 
heart. His peace is the greater if he hears a senior, 
who has taught him his soldiering and broken his head 80 
on occasion, whispering: "They'll shout and carry on 
like this for five minutes. Then they'll rush in, and 
then we've got 'em by the short hairs ! " 

But, on the other hand, if he sees only men of his 
own term of service, turning white and playing with 85 
their triggers and saying, "What's up now?" while the 
Company Commanders are sweating into their sword- 
hilts and shouting : " Front-rank, fix bayonets. Steady 
there — steady ! Sight for three hundred — no, for five ! 
Lie down, all! Steady! P'ront-rank, kneel!" and so 90 
forth, he becomes unhappy; and grows acutely miserable 
when he hears a comrade turn over with the rattle of 
fire-irons falling into the fender, and the grunt of a 



52. 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



pole-axed ox. If he can be moved about a little and 
allowed to watch the effect of his own fire on the enemy 95 
he feels merrier, and may be then worked up to the 
blind passion of fighting, which is, contrary to general 
belief, controlled by a chilly Devil and shakes men like 
ague. If he is not moved about, and begins to feel cold 
at the pit of the stomach, and in that crisis is badly 100 
mauled and hears orders that were never given, he will 
break, and he will break badly; and of all things under 
the light of the Sun there is nothing more terrible than 
a broken British regiment. When the worst comes to 
the worst and the panic is really epidemic, the men must 105 
be e'en let go, and the Company Commanders had 
better escape to the enemy and stay there for safety's 
sake. If they can be made to come again they are not 
pleasant men to meet; because they will not break twice. 

About thirty years from this date, when we have sue- no 
'ceeded in half-educating everything that wears trousers, 
our Army will be a beautifully unreliable machine. It 
will know too much and it will do too little. Later 
still, when all men are at the mental level of the ofhcer 
of to-day, it will sweep the earth. Speaking roughly, 115 
you must employ either blackguards or gentlemen, or, 
best of all, blackguards commanded by gentlemen, to 
do butcher's work with efficiency and despatch. The 
ideal soldier should, of course, think for himself — the 
Pocket-book says so. Unfortunately, to attain this virtue 120 
he has to pass through the phrase of thinking of himself, 
and that is misdirected genius. A blackguard may be 
slow to think for himself, but he is genuinely anxious to 
kill, and a little punishment teaches him how to guard 
his own skin and perforate another's. A powerfully 125 
prayerful Highland Regiment, officered by rank Presby- 
terians, is, perhaps, one degree more terrible in action 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



53 



than a hard-bitted thousand of irresponsible Irish ruffians 
led by most improper young unbelievers. But these 
things prove the rule — which is that the midway men 130 
are not to be trusted alone. They have ideas about the 
value of life and an up-bringing that has not taught them 
to go on and take the chances. They are carefully un- 
provided with a backing of comrades who have been shot 
over, and until that backing is re-introduced, as a great 135 
many Regimental Commanders intend it shall be, they 
are more liable to disgrace themselves than the size of 
the Empire or the dignity of the Army allows. Their 
officers are as good as good can be, because their train- 
ing begins early, and God has arranged that a clean-run 140 
youth of the British middle classes shall, in the matter 
of backbone and brains, surpass all other youths. For 
this reason a child of eighteen will stand up, doing 
nothing, with a tin sword in his hand and joy in his 
heart until he is dropped. If he dies, he dies like a 145 
gentleman. If he lives, he writes Home that he has 
been "potted," "sniped," "chipped," or "cut over," 
and sits down to besiege Government for a wound- 
gratuity until the next little war breaks out, when he 
perjures himself before a Medical Board, blarneys his 150 
Colonel, burns incense round his Adjutant, and is 
allowed to go to the Front once more. 

Which homily brings me directly to a brace of the 
most finished little fiends that ever banged drum or 
tootled fife in the Band of a British Regiment. They 155 
ended their sinful career by open and flagrant mutiny 
and were shot for it. Their names were Jakin and Lew 
— Piggy Lew ■ — and they were bold, bad drummer-boys, 
both of them frequently birched by the Drum-Major of 
the Fore and Aft. ■ 160 

Jakin was a stunted child of fourteen, and Lew was 



54 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



about the same age. When not looked after, they 
smoked and drank. They swore habitually after the 
manner of the Barrack-room, which is cold-swearing and 
comes from between clinched teeth; and they fought 165 
religiously once a week. Jakin had sprung from some 
London gutter, and may or may not have passed through 
Dr. Barnardo's hands ere he arrived at the dignity of 
drummer-boy. Lew could remember nothing except the 
Regiment and the delight of listening to the Band from 170 
his earliest years. He hid somewhere in his grimy little 
soul a genuine love for music, and was most mistakenly 
furnished with the head of a cherub: insomuch that 
beautiful ladies who watched the Regiment in church 
were wont to speak of him as a "darling." They never 175 
heard his vitriolic comments on their manners and 
morals, as he walked back to barracks with the Band and 
matured fresh causes of offence against Jakin. 

The other drummer-boys hated both lads on account 
of their illogical conduct. Jakin might be pounding 180 
Lew, or Lew be rubbing Jakin' s head in the dirt, but 
any attempt at aggression on the part of an outsider was 
met by the combined forces of Lew and Jakin; and the 
consequences were painful. The boys were the Ishmaels 
of the corps, but wealthy Ishmaels, for they sold battles 185 
in alternate weeks for the sport of the barracks when 
they were not pitted against other boys; and thus amassed 
money. 

On this particular day there was dissension in the 
camp. They had just been convicted afresh of smoking, 190 
which is bad for little boys who use plug-tobacco, and 
Lew's contention was that Jakin had "stunk so 'orrid 
bad from keepin' the pipe in pocket," that he and he 
alone was responsible for the birching they were both 
tingling under. . . . They [the regiment] wanted to go 195 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



55 



to the Front — they were enthusiastically anxious to go 
— but they had no knowledge of what war meant, and 
there was none to tell them. They were an educated 
regiment, the percentage of school-certificates in their 
ranks was high, and most of the men could do more than 200 
read and write. They had been recruited in loyal ob- 
servance of the territorial idea; but they themselves had 
no notion of that idea. They were made up of drafts 
from an over-populated manufacturing district. The 
system had put flesh and muscle upon their small bones, 205 
but it could not put heart into the sons of those who for 
generations had done over-much work for over-scanty 
pay, had sweated in drying-rooms, stooped over looms, 
coughed among white-lead, and shivered on lime-barges. 
The men had found food and rest in the Army, and now 210 
they were going to fight "niggers" — people who ran 
away if you shook a stick at them. Wherefore they 
cheered lustily when the rumor ran, and the shrewd, 
clerkly, non-commissioned officers speculated on the 
chances of battle and of saving their pay. At Head- 215 
quarters men said : " The Fore and Fit have never been 
under fire within the last generation. Let us, therefore, 
break them in easily by setting them to guard lines of 
communication." And this would have been done but 
for the fact that British Regiments were wanted — badly 220 
wanted — at the Front, and there were doubtful Native 
Regiments that could fill the minor duties. " Brigade 
'em with two strong Regiments," said Headquarters. 
'•'They may be knocked about a bit, though they'll learn 
their business before they come through. Nothing like 225 
a night-alarm and a little cutting up of stragglers to 
make a Regiment smart in the field. Wait till they've 
had half-a-dozen sentries' throats cut." 

The Colonel wrote with delight that the temper of his 



56 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



men was excellent, that the Regiment was all that could 230 
be wished and as sound as a bell. The Majors smiled 
with a sober joy, and the subalterns waltzed in pairs 
down the Mess-room after dinner, and nearly shot them- 
selves at revolver-practice. But there was consternation 
in the hearts of Jakin and Lew. What was to be done 235 
with the Drums? Would the Band go to the Front? 
How many of the Drums would accompany the Regi- 
ment? 

They took counsel together, sitting in a tree and 
smoking. 240 

"It's more than a bloomin' toss-up they'll leave us 
be'ind at the Depot with the women. You'll like that," 
said Jakin, sarcastically. 

"'Cause o' Cris, y' mean? Wot's a woman, or a 
*ole bloomin' depot o' women, 'longside o' the chanst 245 
of field-service? You know I'm as keen on goin' as 
you," said Lew. 

"Wish I was a bloomin' bugler," said Jakin, sadly. 
"They'll take Tom Kidd along, that I can plaster a wall 
with, an' like as not they won't take us." 250 

"Then let's go an' make Tom Kidd so bloomin' sick 
'e can't bugle no more. You 'old 'is 'ands an' I'll kick 
him," said Lew, wriggling on the branch. 

"That ain't no good neither. We ain't the sort o' 
characters to presoom on our rep'tations — they're bad. 255 
If they leave the Band at the Depot we don't go, and no 
error there. If they take the Band we may get cast for 
medical unfitness. Are you medical fit. Piggy?" said 
Jakin, digging Lew in the ribs with force. 

"Yus," said Lew with an oath. "The Doctor says 260 
your 'eart's weak through smokin' on an empty stum- 
mick. Throw a chest an' I'll try yer." 

Jakin threw out his chest, which Lew smote with all 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



57 



his might. Jakin turned very pale, gasped, crowed, 
screwed up his eyes, and said — "That's all right." 263 

"You'll do," said Lew. "I've 'eard o' men dyin' 
when you 'it 'em fair on the breastbone." 

"Don't bring us no nearer goin', though," said Jakin. 
"Do you know where we're ordered? " 

" Somewheres up to the Front to kill Paythans — hairy 270 
big beggars that turn you inside out if they get 'old o' 
you." 

"Any loot? " asked the abandoned Jakin. 

"Not a bloomin' anna, they say, unless you dig up 
the ground an' see what the niggers 'ave 'id. They're 275 
a poor lot." Jakin stood upright on the branch and 
gazed across the plain. 

"Lew," said he, "there's the Colonel coming. 'Colo- 
nel's a good old beggar. Let's go an' talk to 'im." 

Lew nearly fell out of the tree at the audacity of the 280 
suggestion. Like Jakin he feared not God, neither re- 
garded he Man, but there are limits even to the audacity 
of a drummer-boy, and to speak to a Colonel was — 

But Jakin had slid down the trunk and doubled in the 
direction of the Colonel. That officer was walking 285 
wrapped in thought and visions of a C.B.-^ — yes, even 
a K.C.B., for had he not at command one of the best 
Regiments of the Line — the Fore and Fit? And he 
was aware of two small boys charging down upon him. 
Once before it had been solemnly reported to him that 290 
"the Drums were in a state of mutiny," Jakin and Lew 
being the ringleaders. This looked like an organized 
conspiracy. 

The boys halted at twenty yards, walked to the regu- 

1 C. B., Companion of the Bath; K, C. B., Knight Commander of the 
Bath — two titles much prized as rewards of distinguished service in the 
British army. 



58 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



lation four paces, and saluted together, each as well-set- 295 
up as a ramrod and little taller. 

The Colonel was in a genial mood; the boys appeared 
very forlorn and unprotected on the desolate plain, and 
one of them was handsome. 

"Well!" said the Colonel, recognizing them. "Are 300 
you going to pull me down in the open? I'm sure I 
never interfere with you, even though" — he sniffed 
suspiciously — "you have been smoking." 

It was time to strike while the iron was hot. Their 
hearts beat tumultuously. 305 

"Beg y' pardon. Sir," began Jakin. "The Reg'- 
ment's ordered on active service. Sir? " 

"So I believe," said the Colonel, courteously. 

"Is the Band goin', Sir? " said both together. Then, 
without pause, "We're goin'. Sir, ain't we?" 310 

"You!" said the Colonel, stepping back the more 
fully to take in the two small figures. "You! You'd 
die in the first march." 

"No, we wouldn't, Sir. We can march with the 
Reg'ment anywheres — p'rade an' anywhere else," said 315 
Jakin. 

"If Tom Kidd goes 'e'll shut up like a clasp-knife," 
said Lew. "Tom 'as very-close veins ^ in both 'is legs. 
Sir." 

"Very how much?" 320 

"Very-close veins. Sir. That's why they swells after 
long p'rade. Sir. If 'e can go, we can go. Sir." 

Again the Colonel looked at them long and intently. 

"Yes, the Band is going," he said as gravely as though 
he had been addressing a brother officer. " Have you 325 
any parents, either of you two? " 

"No, Sir," rejoicingly from Lew and Jakin. "We're 

1 Lew means varicose, i.e. swollen. 



THE HEROISM OF WAR en 

both orphans, Sir. There's no one to be considered of 
on our account, Sir." 

"You poor little sprats, and you want to go up to the 330 
Front with the Regiment, do you? Why? " 

"I've wore the Queen's Uniform for two years," said 
Jakin. "It's very 'ard, Sir, that a man don't get no 
recompense for doin' of 'is dooty. Sir." 

"An' — an' if I don't go, Sir," interrupted Lew, "the 335 
Bandmaster 'e says 'e'll catch an' make a bloo — a 
blessed musician o' me. Sir. Before I've seen any 
service. Sir." 

The Colonel made no answer for a long time. Then 
he said quietly: "If you're passed by the Doctor I 34° 
daresay you can go. I shouldn't smoke if I were you." 

The boys saluted and disappeared. The Colonel 
walked home and told the story to his wife, who nearly 
cried over it. The Colonel was well pleased. If that 
was the temper of the children, what would not the 345 
men do? 

Jakin and Lew entered the boys' barrack-room with 
great stateliness, and refused to hold any conversation 
with their comrades for at least ten minutes. Then, 
bursting with pride, Jakin drawled : " I've bin intervooin' 35° 
the Colonel. Good old beggar is the Colonel. Says I 
to 'im, 'Colonel,' says I, 'let me go to the Front, along 
o' the Reg'ment.' — 'To the Front you shall go,' says 
'e, 'an' I only wish there was more like you among the 
dirty little devils that bang the bloomin' drums. ' Kidd, 355 
if you throw your 'courtrements^ at me for tellin' you 
the truth to your own advantage, your legs' 11 swell." . . . 

Public feeling among the drummer-boys rose to fever 
pitch and the lives of Jakin and Lew became unenviable. 
Not only had they been permitted to enlist two years 360 

1 Accoutrements. 



5o STUDY OF LITERATURE 

before the regulation boy's age — fourteen — but, by 
virtue, it seemed, of their extreme youth, they were al- 
lowed to go to the Front — which thing had not happened 
to acting-drummers within the knowledge of boy. The 
Band which was to accompany the Regiment had been 365 
cut down to the regulation twenty men, the surplus re- 
turning to the ranks. Jakin and Lew were attached to 
the Band as supernumeraries, though they would much 
have preferred being Company buglers. 

"'Don't matter much," said Jakin after the medical 370 
inspection. "Be thankful that we're 'lowed to go at 
all. The Doctor 'e said that if we could stand what we 
took from the Bazar-Sergeant's son we'd stand pretty 
nigh anything." 

"Which we will," said Lew, looking tenderly at the 375 
ragged and ill-made housewife that Cris [the Color- 
Sergeant's little girl] had given him, with a lock of her 
hair worked into a sprawling "L" upon the cover. 

"It was the best I could," she sobbed. "I wouldn't 
let mother nor the Sergeants' tailor 'elp me. Keep it 380 
always, Piggy, an' remember I love you true." 

They marched to the railway station, nine hundred 
and sixty strong, and every soul in cantonments turned 
out to see them go. The drummers gnashed their teeth 
at Jakin and Lew marching with the Band, the married 385 
women wept upon the platform, and the Regiment 
cheered its noble self black in the face. 

"A nice level lot," said the Colonel to the Second-in- 
Command as they watched the first four companies 
entraining. 39° 

"Fit to do anything," said the Second-in- Command, 
enthusiastically. "But it seems to me they're a thought 
too young and tender for the work in hand. It's bitter 
cold up at the Front now." 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 6 1 

"They're sound enough," said the Colonel. "We 395 
must take our chance of sick casualties." 

So they went northward, ever northward, past droves 
and droves of camels, armies of camp followers, and 
legions of laden mules, the throng thickening day by 
day, till with a shriek the train pulled up at a hopelessly 400 
congested junction where six lines of temporary track 
accommodated six forty-wagon trains; where whistles 
blew, Babus sweated, and Commissariat officers swore 
from dawn till far into the night amid the wind-driven 
chaff of the fodder-bales and the lowing of a thousand 405 
steers. 

"Hurry up' — you're badly wanted at the Front," was 
the message that greeted the Fore and Aft, and the 
occupants of the Red Cross carriages told the same tale. 

"'Tisn't so much the bloomin' fightin'," gasped a 410 
trooper of Hussars to a knot of admiring Fore and Afts. 
"'Tisn't so much the bloomin' fightin', though there's 
enough o' that. It's the bloomin' food an' the bloomin' 
climate. Frost all night 'cept when it hails, and biling 
sun all day, and the water stinks fit to knock you down. 415 
I got my 'ead chipped like a egg; I've got pneumonia 
too. 'Tain't no bloomin' picnic in those parts, I can 
tell you." 

"Wot are the niggers like? " demanded a private. 

"There's some prisoners in that train yonder. Go 420 
an' look at 'em. They're the aristocracy o' the country. 
The common folk are a sight uglier. If you want to 
know what they fight with, reach under my seat an' pull 
out the long knife that's there." 

They dragged out and beheld for the first time the 425 
grim, bone-handled, triangular Afghan knife. It was 
almost as long as Lew. 

"That's the thing to jintye," said the trooper, feebly. 



62 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

"It can take off a man's arm at the shoulder as easy as 
slicing butter. I halved the beggar that used that 'un, 430 
but there's more of his likes up above." 

The men strolled across the tracks to inspect the 
Afghan prisoners. They were unlike any "niggers" 
that the Fore and Aft had ever met — these huge, black- 
haired, scowling sons of the Beni-Israel. As the men 435 
stared, the Afghans spat freely and muttered one to 
another with lowered eyes. 

"My eyes! Wot awful swine!" said Jakin, who was 
in the rear of the procession. The tallest of the com- 
pany turned, his leg-irons clanking at the movement, 440 
and stared at the boy. "See! " he cried to his fellows 
in Pushto. "They send children against us. What a 
people, and what fools ! " 

"Z5^^ •^" said Jakin, nodding his head cheerily. . . . 
Good-by, ole man. Take care o' your beautiful 445 
figure-'ed." 

The men laughed and fell in for their first march, 
when they began to realize that a soldier's life was not 
all beer and skittles. They were much impressed with 
the size and bestial ferocity of the niggers whom they 450 
had now learned to call "Paythans," and more with 
the exceeding discomfort of their own surroundings. 
Twenty old soldiers in the corps would have taught them 
how to make themselves moderately snug at night, but 
they had no old soldiers, and, as the troops on the line 455 
of march said, "they lived like pigs." . . . 

At the end of their third march they were disagreeably 
surprised by the arrival in their camp of a hammered 
iron slug which, fired from a steady rest at seven hundred 
yards, flicked out the brains of a private seated by the 460 
fire. This robbed them of their peace for a night, and 
was the beginning of a long-range fire carefully calcu- 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



63 



lated to that end. In the daytime they saw nothing ex- 
cept an unpleasant puff of smoke from a crag above the 
line of march. At night there were distant spurts of 465 
flame and occasional casualties, which set the whole 
camp blazing into the gloom and, occasionally, into 
opposite tents. Then they swore vehemently and vowed 
that this was magnificent, but not war. 

Indeed it was not. The Regiment could not halt for 470 
reprisals against the sharpshooters of the country-side. 
Its duty was to go forward and make connection with 
the Scotch and Gurkha troops with which it was brigaded. 
The Afghans knew this, and knew too, after their first 
tentative shots, that they were dealing with a raw regi- 475 
ment. Thereafter they devoted themselves to the task 
of keeping the Fore and Aft on the strain. Not for 
anything would they have taken equal liberties with a 
seasoned corps — with the wicked little Gurkhas, whose 
delight it was to lie out in the open on a dark night and 480 
stalk their stalkers, — with the terrible big men dressed 
in women's clothes, who could be heard praying to their 
God in the night-watches, and whose peace of mind no 
amount of "sniping" could shake; — or with those vile 
Sikhs, who marched so ostentatiously unprepared and 485 
who dealt out such grim reward to those who tried to 
profit by that unpreparedness. This white regiment was 
different — quite different. It slept like a hog, and, 
like a hog, charged in every direction when it was 
roused. Its sentries walked with a footfall that could 490 
be heard for a quarter of a mile; would fire at anything 
that moved — even a driven donkey — and when they 
had once fired, could be scientifically "rushed " and laid 
out a horror and an offence against the morning sun. 
Then there were camp-followers who straggled and could 495 
be cut up without fear. Their shrieks would disturb the 



64 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



white boys, and the loss of their services would incon- 
venience them sorely. 

Thus, at every march, the hidden enemy became 
bolder and the regiment writhed and twisted under 5°° 
attacks it could not avenge. The crowning triumph 
was a sudden night-rush ending in the cutting of many 
tent-ropes, the collapse of the sodden canvas, and a 
glorious knifing of the men who struggled and kicked 
below. It was a great deed, neatly carried out, and it 505 
shook the already shaken nerves of the Fore and Aft. 
All the courage that they had been required to exercise 
up to this point was the "two o'clock in the morning 
courage"; and, so far, they had only succeeded in 
shooting their comrades and losing their sleep. 51° 

Sullen, discontented, cold, savage, sick, with their 
uniforms dulled and unclean, the Fore and Aft joined 
their Brigade. 

"I hear you had a tough time of it coming up," said 
the Brigadier. But when he saw the hospital-sheets his 515 
face fell. 

"This is bad," said he to himself. . . . And aloud 
to the Colonel — "I'm afraid we can't spare you just 
yet. We want all we have, else I should have given you 
ten days to recover in." 520 

The Colonel winced. "On my honor. Sir," he re- 
turned, "there is not the least necessity to think of 
sparing us. My men have been rather mauled and upset 
without a fair return. They only want to go in some- 
where where they can see what's before them." 525 

" Can' t say I think much of the Fore and Fit, " said the 
Brigadier in confidence to his Brigade-Major. "They've 
lost all their soldiering, and, by the trim of them, might 
have marched through the country from the other side. 
A more fagged-out set of men I never put eyes on." 530 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



65 



"Oh, they'll improve as the work goes on. The 
parade gloss has been rubbed off a little, but they'll put 
on field polish before long," said the Brigade-Major. 
"They've been mauled, and they don't quite understand 

It- 535 

They did not. All the hitting was on one side, and 
it was cruelly hard hitting, with accessories that made 
them sick. There was also the real sickness that laid 
hold of a strong man and dragged him howling to the 
grave. Worst of all, their officers knew just as little of 540 
the country as the men themselves, and looked as if 
they did. The Fore and Aft were in a thoroughly un- 
satisfactory condition, but they believed that all would 
be well if they could once get a fair go-in at the enemy. 
Pot-shots up and down the valleys were unsatisfactory, 545 
and the bayonet never seemed to get a chance. Per- 
haps it was as well, for a long-limbed Afghan with a 
knife had a reach of eight feet, and could carry away 
lead that would disable three Englishmen. 

The Fore and Fit would like some rifle-practice at 550 
the enemy — all seven hundred rifles blazing together. 
That wish showed the mood of the men. 

The Gurkhas walked into their camp, and in broken, 
barrack-room English strove to fraternize with them; 
offered them pipes of tobacco and stood them treat at 555 
the canteen. But the Fore and Aft, not knowing much 
of the nature of the Gurkhas, treated them as they would 
treat any other "niggers," and the little men in green 
trotted back to their firm friends the Highlanders, and 
with many grins confided to them: "That white regi- 560 
ment no use. Sulky — ugh ! Dirty — ugh ! Hya, any 
tot for Johnny?" Whereat the Highlanders smote the 
Gurkhas as to the head, and told them not to vilify a 
British Regiment, and the Gurkhas grinned cavernously. 



56 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

for the Highlanders were their elder brothers and en- 565 
titled to the privileges of kinship. The common soldier 
who touches a Gurkha is more than hkely to have his 
head sliced open. 

Three days later the Brigadier arranged a battle ac- 
cording to the rules of war and the peculiarity of the 570 
Afghan temperament. The enemy were massing in in- 
convenient strength among the hills, and the moving of 
many green standards warned him that the tribes were 
*'up" in aid of the Afghan regular troops. A squadron 
and a half of Bengal Lancers represented the available 575 
Cavalry, and two screw-guns borrowed from a column 
thirty miles away the Artillery at the General's disposal. 

" If they stand, as I've a very strong notion that they 
will, I fancy we shall see an infantry fight that will be 
worth watching," said the Brigadier. "We'll do it in 580 
style. Each regiment shall be played into action by its 
Band, and we'll hold the Cavalry in reserve." 

" For <2//the reserve?" somebody asked. 

" For all the reserve ; because we're going to crumple 
them up," said the Brigadier, who was an extraordinary 585 
Brigadier, and did not believe in the value of a reserve 
when dealing with Asiatics. Indeed, when you come 
to think of it, had the British Army consistently waited 
for reserves in all its little affairs, the boundaries of Our 
Empire would have stopped at Brighton beach. „ 

That battle was to be a glorious battle. 

The three regiments debouching from three separate 
gorges, after duly crowning the heights above, were to 
converge from the centre, left, and right upon what we 
will call the Afghan army, then stationed toward the 595 
lower extremity of a flat-bottomed valley. Thus it will 
be seen that three sides of the valley practically be- 
longed to the English, while the fourth was strictly 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



67 



Afghan property. In the event of defeat the Afghans 
had the rocky hills to fly to, where the fire from the 600 
guerilla tribes in aid would cover their retreat. In the 
event of victory these same tribes would rush down and 
lend their weight to the rout of the British. 

The screw-guns were to shell the head of each Afghan 
rush that was made in close formation, and the Cavalry, 605 
held in reserve in the right valley, were to gently stimu- 
late the break-up which would follow on the combined 
attack. The Brigadier, sitting upon a rock overlooking 
the valley, would watch the battle unrolled at his feet. 
The Fore and Aft would debouch from the central gorge, 610 
the Gurkhas from the left, and the Highlanders from 
the right, for the reason that the left flank of the enemy 
seemed as though it required the most hammering. It 
was not every day that an Afghan force would take 
ground in the open, and the Brigadier was resolved to 615 
make the most of it. 

" If we only had a few more men," he said plain- 
tively, "we could surround the creatures and crumple 
'em up thoroughly. As it is, I'm afraid we can only 
cut them up as they run. It's a great pity." 620 

The Fore and Aft had enjoyed unbroken peace for 
five days, and were beginning, in spite of dysentery, to 
recover their nerve. But they were not happy, for they 
did not know the work in hand, and had they known, 
would not have known how to do it. Throughout those 625 
five days in which old soldiers might have taught them 
the craft of the game, they discussed together their mis- 
adventures in the past — how such an one was alive at 
dawn and dead ere the dusk, and with what shrieks and 
struggles such another had given up his soul under the 630 
Afghan knife. Death was a new and horrible thing to 
the sons of mechanics who were used to die decently of 



58 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

zymotic disease; and their careful conservation in bar- 
racks had done nothing to make them look upon it with 
less dread. 635 

Very early in the dawn the bugles began to blow, and 
the Fore and Aft, filled with a misguided enthusiasm, 
turned out without waiting for a cup of coffee and a bis- 
cuit; and were rewarded by being kept under arms in 
the cold while the other regiments leisurely prepared for 640 
the fray. All the world knows that it is ill taking the 
breeks off a Highlander. It is much iller to try to make 
him stir unless he is convinced of the necessity for haste. 

The Fore and Aft waited, leaning upon their rifles 
and listening to the protests of their empty stomachs. 645 
The Colonel did his best to remedy the default of lining 
as soon as it was borne in upon him that the affair would 
not begin at once, and so well did he succeed that the 
coffee was just ready when — the men moved off, their 
Band leading. Even then there had been a mistake in 650 
time, and the Fore and Aft came out into the valley ten 
minutes before the proper hour. Their Band wheeled 
to the right after reaching the open, and retired behind 
a little rocky knoll, still playing while the regiment went 
past. 655 

It was not a pleasant sight that opened on the unin- 
structed view, for the lower end of the valley appeared 
to be filled by an army in position — real and actual 
regiments attired in red coats, and — of this there was 
no doubt — firing Martini-Henry bullets which cut up 660 
the ground a hundred yards in front of the leading com- 
pany. Over that pock-marked ground the regiment had 
to pass, and it opened the ball with a general and pro- 
found courtesy to the piping pickets; ducking in perfect 
time, as though it had been brazed on a rod. Being 665 
half-capable of thinking for itself, it fired a volley by the 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



69 



simple process of pitching its rifle into its shoulder and 
pulling the trigger. The bullets may have accounted for 
some of the watchers on the hillside, but they certainly 
did not affect the mass of enemy in front, while the 670 
noise of the rifles drowned any orders that might have 
been given. . . . 

The Fore and Aft continued to go forward, but with 
shortened stride. Where were the other regiments, and 
why did these niggers use Martinis? They took open 675 
order instinctively, lying down and firing at random, 
rushing a few paces forward and lying down again, ac- 
cording to the regulations. Once in this formation, 
each man felt himself desperately alone, and edged in 
toward his fellow for comfort's sake. 680 

Then the crack of his neighbor's rifle at his ear led 
him to fire as rapidly as he could — again for the sake 
of the comfort of the noise. The reward was not long 
delayed. Five volleys plunged the files in banked smoke 
impenetrable to the eye, and the bullets began to take 685 
ground twenty or thirty yards m front of the firers, as 
the weight of the bayonet dragged down and to the right 
arms wearied with holding the kick of the leaping Mar- 
tini. The Company Commanders peered helplessly 
through the smoke, the more nervous mechanically trying 690 
to fan it away with their helmets. 

" High and to the left ! " bawled a Captain till he was 
hoarse. " No good ! Cease firing, and let it drift away 
a bit." 

Three and four times the bugles shrieked the order, 695 
and when it was obeyed the Fore and Aft looked that 
their foe should be lying before them in mown swaths of 
men. A light wind drove the smoke to leeward, and 
showed the enemy still in position and apparently 
unaffected. A quarter of a ton of lead had been 700 



70 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



buried a furlong in front of them, as the ragged earth 
attested. 

That was not demoralizing to the Afghans, who have 
not European nerves. They were waiting for the mad 
riot to die down, and were firing quietly into the heart 705 
of the smoke. A private of the Fore and Aft spun up 
his company shrieking with agony, another was kicking 
the earth and gasping, and a third . . . was calling 
aloud on his comrades to put him out of his pain. 
These were the casualties, and they were not soothing 710 
to hear or see. The smoke cleared to a dull haze. 

Then the foe began to shout with a great shouting, 
and a mass — a black mass — detached itself from the 
main body, and rolled over the ground at horrid speed. 
It was composed of, perhaps, three hundred men, who 715 
would shout and fire and slash if the rush of their fifty 
comrades who were determined to die carried home. 
The fifty were Ghazis, half-maddened with drugs and 
wholly mad with religious fanaticism. When they 
rushed the British fire ceased, and in the lull the order 720 
was given to close ranks and meet them with the 
bayonet. 

Any one who knew the business could have told the 
Fore and Aft that the only way of dealing with a Ghazi 
rush is by volleys at long ranges; because a man who 725 
means to die, who desires to die, who will gain heaven 
by dying, must, in nine cases out of ten, kill a man who 
has a lingering prejudice in favor of life. Where they 
should have closed and gone forward, the Fore and Aft 
opened out and skirmished, and where they should have 730 
opened out and fired, they closed and waited. 

A man dragged from his blankets half awake and 
unfed is never in a pleasant frame of mind. Nor does 
his happiness increase when he watches the whites of 



THE HEROISM OF WAR yi 

the eyes of three hundred six-foot fiends upon whose 735 
beards the foam is lying, upon whose tongues is a roar 
of wrath, and in whose hands are yard-long knives. 

The Fore and Aft heard the Gurkha bugles bringing 
that regiment forward at the double, while the neighing 
of the Highland pipes came from the left. They strove 740 
to stay where they were, though the bayonets wavered 
down the line like the oars of a ragged boat. Then they 
felt body to body the amazing physical strength of their 
foes; a shriek of pain ended the rush, and the knives 
fell amid scenes not to be told. The men clubbed 745 
together and smote blindly — as often as not at their 
own fellows. Their front crumpled like paper, and the 
fifty Ghazis passed on; their backers, now drunk with 
success, fighting as madly as they. 

Then the rear-ranks were bidden to close up, and the 750 
subalterns dashed into the stew — alone. For the rear- 
rank had heard the clamor in front, the yells and the 
howls of pain, and had seen the dark stale blood that 
makes afraid. They were not going to stay. It was the 
rushing of the camps over again. ... 755 

"Come on! " shrieked the subalterns, and their men, 
cursing them, drew back, each closing into his neighbor 
and wheeling round. 

Charteris and Devlin, subalterns of the last company, 
faced their death alone in the belief that their men 760 
would follow. 

"You've killed me, you cowards," sobbed Devlin and 
dropped, cut from the shoulder-strap to the centre of 
the chest, and a fresh detachment of his men retreating, 
always retreating, trampled him under foot as they made 765 
for the pass whence they had emerged. . . . 

The Gurkhas were pouring through the left gorge and 
over the heights at the double to the invitation of their 



72 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Regimental Quick-step. The black rocks were crowned 
with dark green spiders as the bugles gave tongue 770 
jubilantly : — 

In the morning ! In the morning by the bright light ! 
When Gabriel blows his trumpet in the morning ! 

The Gurkha rear-companies tripped and blundered 
over loose stones. The front-files halted for a moment 775 
to take stock of the valley and to settle stray boot-laces. 
Then a happy little sigh of contentment soughed down 
the ranks, and it was as though the land smiled, for 
behold there below was the enemy, and it was to meet 
them that the Gurkhas had doubled so hastily. There 780 
was much enemy. There would be amusement. The 
little men hitched their kukris well to hand, and gaped 
expectantly at their officers as terriers grin ere the 
stone is cast for them to fetch. The Gurkhas' ground 
sloped downward to the valley, and they enjoyed a fair 785 
view of the proceedings. They sat upon the boulders 
to watch, for their officers were not going to waste their 
wind in assisting to repulse a Ghazi rush more than half 
a mile away. Let the white men look to their own 
front. ... 790 

Horrified, amused, and indignant, the Gurkhas beheld 
the retirement of the Fore and Aft with a running chorus 
of oaths and commentaries. 

"They run! The white men run! Colonel Sahib, ^ 
may we also do a little running? " murmured Runbir 795 
Thappa, the Senior Jemadar. 

But the Colonel would have none of it. "Let the 
beggars be cut up a little," said he, wrathfully. 
"'Serves 'em right. They'll be prodded into facing 

1 Sahib is a Hindoo form of respectful address — " Master." 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



73 



round in a minute." He looked through his field- 800 
glasses, and caught the glint of an officer's sword. 

"Beating 'em with the flat^ ! How the Ghazis are 
walking into them ! " said he. 

The P'ore and Aft, heading back, bore with them their 
officers. The narrowness of the pass forced the mob 805 
into solid formation, and the rear-rank delivered some 
sort of a wavering volley. The Ghazis drew off, for they 
did not know what reserves the gorge might hide. 
Moreover, it was never wise to chase white men too far. 
They returned as wolves return to cover, satisfied with 810 
the slaughter that they had done, and only stopping to 
slash at the wounded on the ground. A quarter of a 
mile had the Fore and Aft retreated, and now, jammed 
in the pass, was quivering with pain, shaken and de- 
moralized with fear, while the officers, maddened beyond 815 
control, smote the men with the hilts and the flats of 
their swords. 

"Get back! Get back, you cowards — you women! 
Right about face — column of companies, form — you 
hounds ! " shouted the Colonel, and the subalterns swore 820 
aloud. But the Regiment wanted to go — to go any- 
where out of the range of those merciless knives. It 
swayed to and fro irresolutely with shouts and outcries, 
while from the right the Gurkhas dropped volley after 
volley of cripple-stopper Snider bullets at long range into 825 
the mob of the Ghazis returning to their own troops. 

The Fore and Aft Band, though protected from direct 
fire by the rocky knoll under which it had sat down, fled 
at the first rush. Jakin and Lew would have fled also, 
but their short legs left them fifty yards in the rear, and 830 
by the time the Band had mixed with the regiment, they 

1 Of the sword. 



74 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



were painfully aware that they would have to close in 
alone and unsupported. 

" Get back to that rock, " gasped Jakin. " They won't 
see us there." 835 

And they returned to the scattered instruments of the 
Band, their hearts nearly bursting their ribs. 

"Here's a nice show for us,'" said Jakin, throwing 
himself full length on the ground. "A bloomin' fine 
show for British Infantry! They've gone an' left us 840 
alone here ! Wot' 11 we do? " 

Lew took possession of a cast-off water bottle, which 
naturally was full of canteen rum, and drank till he 
coughed again. 

"Drink," said he, shortly. "They'll come back in a 845 
minute or two — you see." 

Jakin drank, but there was no sign of the Regiment's 
return. They could hear a dull clamor from the head 
of the valley of retreat, and saw the Ghazis slink back, 
quickening their pace as the Gurkhas fired at them. 850 

"We're all that's left of the Band, an' we'll be cut up 
as sure as death," said Jakin. 

"I'll die game, then," said Lew, thickly, fumbling 
with his tiny drummer's sword. The drink was working 
on his brain as it was on Jakin' s. 855 

"'Old on! I know something better than fightin'," 
said Jakin, "stung by the splendor of a sudden thought" 
due chiefly to rum. "Tip our bloomin' cowards yonder 
the word to come back. The Paythan beggars are well 
away. Come on. Lew! We won't get hurt. Take the 860 
fife and give me the drum. . . . There's a few of our 
men coming back now. Stand up, ye drunken little 
defaulter. By your right — quick march ! " 

He slipped the drum-sling over his shoulder, thrust 
the fife into Lew's hand, and the two boys marched out 865 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



75 



of the cover of the rock into the open, making a hideous 
hash of the first bars of the British Grenadiers. 

As Jakin had said, a few of the Fore and Aft were 
coming back sullenly and shamefacedly under the stimu- 
lus of blows and abuse; their red coats shone at the head 870 
of the valley, and behind them were wavering bayonets. 
But between this shattered line and the enemy, who with 
Afghan suspicion feared that the hasty retreat meant an 
ambush, and had not moved therefore, lay half a mile of 
level ground dotted only by the wounded. 875 

The tune settled into full swing and the boys kept 
shoulder to shoulder, Jakin banging the drum as one 
possessed. The one fife made a thin and pitiful squeak- 
ing, but the tune carried far, even to the Gurkhas. 

" Come on, you dogs ! " muttered Jakin to himself. 880 
"Are we to play for hever?" Lew was staring straight 
in front of him and marching more stiffly than ever he 
had done on parade. 

And in bitter mockery of the distant mob, the old tune 
of the Old Line shrilled and rattled : — 885 

Some talk of Alexander, 

And some of Hercules; 
Of Hector and Lysander, 

And such great names as these ! 

There was a far-off clapping of hands from the Gurkhas, 890 
and a roar from the Highlanders in the distance, but 
never a shot was fired by British or Afghan. The two 
little red dots moved forward in the open parallel to the 
enemy's front. 

But of all the world's great heroes 895 

There's none that can compare, 
With a tow-row-row-row-row-row, 

To the British Grenadier ! 



76 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



The men of the Fore and Aft were gathering thick at 
the entrance to the plain. The Brigadier on the heights 900 
far above was speechless with rage. Still no movement 
from the enemy. The day stayed to watch the children. 

Jakin halted and beat the long roll of the Assembly, 
while the fife squealed despairingly. 

"Right about face! Hold up, Lew, you're drunk," 905 
said Jakin. They wheeled and marched back : — 

Those heroes of antiquity 

Ne'er saw a cannon-ball, 
Nor knew the force o' powder, 

" Here they come ! " said Jakin. " Go on. Lew " : — 910 

To scare their foes withal ! 

The Fore and Aft were pouring out of the valley. 
What officers had said to men in that time of shame and 
humiliation will never be known; for neither officers 
nor men speak of it now. 915 

" They are coming anew ! " shouted a priest among the 
Afghans. "Do not kill the boys! Take them alive and 
they shall be of our faith." 

But the first volley had been fired, and Lew dropped 
on his face. Jakin stood for a minute, spun round and 920 
collapsed, as the Fore and Aft came forward, the curses 
of their officers in their ears, and in their hearts the 
shame of open shame. 

Half the men had seen the drummers die, and they 
made no sign. They did not even shout. They doubled 925 
out straight across the plain in open order, and they did 
not fire. 

"This," said the Colonel of Gurkhas, softly, "is the 
real attack, as it should have been delivered. Come on, 
my children." 930 

"Ulu-lu-lu-lu! " squealed the Gurkhas, and came 



THE HEROISM OF WAR jj 

down with a joyful clicking of kukris — those vicious 
Gurkha knives. 

On the right there was no rush. The Highlanders, 
cannily commending their souls to God, . . . opened 935 
out and fired according to their custom, that is to say 
without heat and without intervals, while the screw-guns, 
having disposed of the impertinent mud fort aforemen- 
tioned, dropped shell after shell into the clusters round 
the flickering green standards on the heights. 940 

"Charrging is an unfortunate necessity," murmured 
the Color-Sergeant of the right company of the High- 
landers. " It makes the men sweer so, but I am thinkin' 
that it will come to a charrge if these black devils stand 
much longer. Stewarrt, man, you're firing into the eye 945 
of the sun, and e'll not take any harm for Government 
ammuneetion. A foot lower and a great deal slower ! 
What are the English doing? They're very quiet there 
in the centre. Running again? " 

The English were not running. They were hacking 950 
and hewing and stabbing, for though one white man is 
seldom physically a match for an Afghan in a sheepskin 
or wadded coat, yet, through the pressure of many 
white men behind, and a certain thirst for revenge in 
his heart, he becomes capable of doing much with both 955 
ends of his rifle. The Fore and Aft held their fire till 
one bullet could drive through five or six men, and the 
front of the Afghan force gave on the volley. They then 
selected their men, and slew them with deep gasps and 
short hacking coughs, and groanings of leather belts 960 
against strained bodies, and realized for the first time 
that^an Afghan attacked is far less formidable than an 
Afghan attacking: which fact old soldiers might have 
told them. 

But they had no old soldiers in their ranks. ... 965 



78 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



As the Afghans wavered, the green standards on the 
mountain moved down to assist them in a last rally. 
This was unwise. The Lancers chafing in the right gorge 
had thrice despatched their only subaltern as galloper to 
report on the progress of affairs. On the third occasion 970 
he returned, with a bullet-graze on his knee, swearing 
strange oaths in Hindustani, and saying that all things 
were ready. So that Squadron swung round the right of 
the Highlanders with a wicked whistling of wind in the 
pennons of its lances, and fell upon the remnant just 975 
when, according to all the rules of war, it should have 
waited for the foe to show more signs of wavering. 

But it was a dainty charge, deftly delivered, and it 
ended by the Cavalry finding itself at the head of the 
pass by which the Afghans intended to retreat; and down 980 
the track that the lances had made streamed two com- 
panies of the Highlanders, which was never intended by 
the Brigadier. The new development was successful. 
It detached the enemy from his base as a sponge is torn 
from a rock, and left him ringed about with fire in that 985 
pitiless plain. And as a sponge is chased round the 
bath-tub by the hand of the bather, so were the Afghans 
chased till they broke into little detachments much more 
difficult to dispose of than large masses. 

" See ! " quoth the Brigadier. " Everything has come 990 
as I arranged. We've cut their base, and now we'll 
bucket 'em to pieces." 

A direct hammering was all that the Brigadier had 
dared to hope for, considering the size of the force at 
his disposal ; but men who stand or fall by the errors of 995 
their opponents may be forgiven for turning Chance into 
Design. The bucketing went forward merrily. The 
Afghan forces were upon the run — the run of wearied 
wolves who snarl and bite over their shoulders. The 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



79 



red lances dipped by twos and threes, and, with a shriek, i(x>o 
up rose the lance-butt, like a spar on a stormy sea, as 
the trooper cantering forward cleared his point. The 
Lancers kept between their prey and the steep hills, for 
all who could were trying to escape from the valley of 
death. The Highlanders gave the fugitives two hundred 1005 
yards' law, and then brought them down, gasping and 
choking ere they could reach the protection of the 
boulders above. The Gurkhas followed suit; but the 
Fore and Aft were killing on their own account, for they 
had penned a mass of men between their bayonets and a loio 
wall of rock, and the flash of the rifles was lighting the 
wadded coats. 

"We cannot hold them. Captain Sahib!" panted a 
Ressaidar of Lancers. " Let us try the carbine. The 
lance is good, but it wastes time." 1015 

They tried the carbine, and still the enemy melted 
away — fled up the hills by hundreds when there were 
only twenty bullets to stop them. On the heights the 
screw-guns ceased firing — they had run out of ammuni- 
tion — and the Brigadier groaned, for the musketry fire 1020 
could not sufficiently smash the retreat. Long before 
the last volleys were fired, the doolies were out in force 
looking for the wounded. The battle was over, and, but 
for want of fresh troops, the Afghans would have been 
wiped off the earth. As it was they counted their dead 1025 
by hundreds, and nowhere were the dead thicker than 
in the track of the Fore and Aft. 

But the Regiment did not cheer with the Highlanders, 
nor did they dance uncouth dances with the Gurkhas 
among the dead. They looked under their brows at the 1030 
Colonel as they leaned upon their rifles and panted. 

"Get back to camp, you. Haven't you disgraced 
yourself enough for one day! Go and look to the 



go STUDY OF LITERATURE 

wounded. It's all you're fit for," said the Colonel. 
Yet for the past hour the Fore and Aft had been doing 1035 
all that mortal commander could expect. They had lost 
heavily because they did not know how to set about their 
business with proper skill, but they had borne them- 
selves gallantly, and this was their reward. 

A young and sprightly Color-Sergeant, who had begun 1040 
to imagine himself a hero, offered his water-bottle to a 
Highlander, whose tongue was black with thirst. "I 
drink with no cowards," answered the youngster, huskily, 
and, turning to a Gurkha, said, " Hya, Johnny ! Drink 
water got it?" The Gurkha grinned and passed his 1045 
bottle. The Fore and Aft said no word. 

They went back to camp when the field of strife had 
been a little mopped up and made presentable, and the 
Brigadier, who saw himself a Knight in three months, 
was the only soul who was complimentary to them. The 1050 
Colonel was heart-broken, and the officers were savage 
and sullen. 

"Well," said the Brigadier, " they are young troops of 
course, and it was not unnatural that they should retire 
in disorder for a bit." 1055 

" Oh, my only Aunt Maria ! " murmured a junior Staff 
Officer. " Retire in disorder ! It was a bally run ! " 

"But they came again, as we all know," cooed the 
Brigadier, the Colonel's ashy- white face before him, 
"and they behaved as well as could possibly be expected. 1060 
Behaved beautifully, indeed. I was watching them. 
It's not a matter to take to heart, Colonel. As some 
German General said of his men, they wanted to be 
shooted over a little, that was all." To himself he said 
' — "Now they're blooded I can give 'em responsible 1065 
work. It's as well that they got what they did. 'Teach 
'em more than half a dozen rifle flirtations, that will 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 3 1 

— later — run alone and bite. Poor old Colonel, 
though." 

All that afternoon the heliograph winked and flickered 1070 
on the hills, striving to tell the good news to a mountain 
forty miles away. And in the evening there arrived, 
dusty, sweating, and sore, a misguided Correspondent, 
who had gone out to assist at a trumpery village-burning, 
and who had read off the message from afar, cursing 1075 
his luck the while. 

"Let's have the details somehow — as full as ever you 
can, please. It's the first time I've ever been left this 
campaign," said the Correspondent to the Brigadier; 
and the Brigadier, nothing loath, told him how an Army 1080 
of Communication had been crumpled up, destroyed, 
and all but annihilated, by the craft, strategy, wisdom, 
and foresight of the Brigadier. 

But some say, and among these be the Gurkhas who 
watched on the hillside, that that battle was won by 1085 
Jakin and Lew, whose little bodies were borne up just 
in time to fit two gaps at the head of the big ditch-grave 
for the dead under the heights of Jagai. 

Are the drummer-boys mere types, or are they real characters, mixtures 
of bad and good? Read over the General Introduction, §§ 19, 20. Describe 
their personal appearance and their characters. • Is the story powerful? 
graphic? true to human nature? Would it have been a better story if the 
author had been able to arouse the same emotions of admiration and pity 
without the use of slang? 

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP 

Robert Browning 

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: 

A mile or so away. 
On a little mound. Napoleon 
Stood on our storming-day; 
I. The metre is tetrameter. Is it iambic tetrameter, or trochaic tetrameter ? 



g2 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, s 

Legs wide, arms locked behind. 
As if to balance the prone brow 

Oppressive with its mind. 

Just as perhaps he mused " My plans 

That soar, to earth may fall, lo 

Let once my army-leader Lannes 

Waver at yonder wall," — 
Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew 

A rider, bound on bound 
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew 15 

Until he reached the mound. 

Then off there flung in smiling joy, 

And held himself erect 
By just his horse's mane, a boy: 

You hardly could suspect — 20 

(So tight he kept his lips compressed, 

Scarce any blood came through) 
You looked twice ere you saw his breast 

Was all but shot in two. 

"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace 25 

We've got you Ratisbon ! 
The Marshal's in the market-place. 

And you'll be there anon 
To see your flag-bird flap his vans 

Where I, to heart's desire, 30 

Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans 

Soared up again like fire. 

8. Note the rhyme-scheme : a b a b, c d c d. 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



83 



The chief's eye flashed; but presently 

Softened itself, as sheathes 
A film the mother-eagle's eye 35 

When her bruised eaglet breathes; 
"You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride 

Touched to the quick, he said : 
"I'm killed, Sire ! " And his chief beside 

Smiling the boy fell dead. 40 



HERVE RIEL 
Robert Browning 



On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two. 

Did the English fight the French, — woe to France ! 
And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, 
Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks 
pursue, 
Came crowding ship on ship to Saint-Malo on the 
Ranee, 5 

With the English fleet in view. 

II 

'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full 
chase ; 
First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Dam- 
freville; 
Close on him fled, great and small. 
Twenty- two good ships in all; 10 

3. Name the line according to the number of accents and the kind of 
foot. Is the metre rapid or slow ? 4. Note that which is understood after 
porpoises. 9-12. Is there any reason for short lines ? Compare The Re' 
venge. 



84 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



And they signalled to the place 
" Help the winners of a race ! 

Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick — or, 
quicker still. 

Here's the English can and will! " 



III 



Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on 

board; 15 

"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to 

pass ? " laughed they : 

" Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred 

and scored, — 
Shall the Formidable here, with her twelve and eighty guns, 
Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way. 
Trust to enter — where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty 
tons, 20 

And with flow at full beside ? 
Now, 'tis slackest ebb of tide. 
Reach the mooring? Rather say, 
While rock stands or water runs. 

Not a ship will leave the bay ! " 25 

IV 

Then was called a council straight. 

Brief and bitter the debate : 

"Here's the English at our heels; would you have them 

take in tow 
All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, 
For a prize to Plymouth Sound? Better run the ships 

aground ! " 3° 

(Ended Damfreville his speech). 

17. That is, scarred by rocks. 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



85 



"Not a minute more to wait! 

Let the captains all and each 

Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the 
beach ! 
France must undergo her fate. 35 

V 

"Give the word! " But no such word 

Was ever spoke or heard; 

For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck, amid all 

these — 
A captain? A lieutenant? A mate — first, second, third? 

No such man of mark, and meet 40 

With his betters to compete, 

But a simple Breton sailor, pressed by Tourville for the 
fleet — 
A poor coasting-pilot he, Herve Riel the Croisickese. 

VI 

And, " What mockery or malice have we here ? " cries Herve 
Riel: 
"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, 
or rogues? 45 

Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the sound- 
ings, tell 
On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell 
'Twixt the offing here and Greve, where the river dis- 
embogues 1 
Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for? 
Morn and eve, night and day 50 

Have I piloted your bay. 

42. Pressed means impressed — forced into service. 43. Croisickese 
means an inhabitant of Croisic, a little seashore town in the north of 
France, where Browning spent many summers. See line 127. 48. dis- 
embogues, a rare word for empties ; why did Browning use it ? 



36 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. 
Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse than 
fifty Hogues ! 
Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me 
there's a way! 
Only let me lead the line, 55 

Have the biggest ship to steer, 
Get this Formidable clear. 
Make the others follow mine, 

And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well, 
Right to Solidor, past Greve, 60 

And there lay them safe and sound; 
And if one ship misbehave, — 
Keel so much as grate the ground. 
Why, I've nothing but my life, — here's my head!" cries 
Herve Riel. 

VII 

Not a minute more to wait. 65 

" Steer us in, then, small and great ! 

Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron ! " cried 
its chief. 
Captains, give the sailor place ! 

He is Admiral, in brief. 
Still the north-wind, by God's grace! ^o 

See the noble fellow's face 
As the big ship, with a bound. 
Clears the entry like a hound. 

Keeps the passage, as its inch of way were the wide sea's 
profound ! 
See, safe thro' shoal and rock, 75 

How they follow in a flock. 
Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the 
ground. 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



87 



Not a spar that comes to grief ! 
The peril, see, is past. 

All are harbored to the last, 80 

And just as Herve Riel hollas "Anchor! " sure as fate, 
Up the English come, — too late ! 

VIII 

So, the storm subsides to calm : 

They see the green trees wave 

On the heights o'erlooking Greve. 85 

Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. 
"Just our rapture to enhance. 

Let the English rake the bay. 
Gnash their teeth and glare askance 

As they cannonade away ! 90 

'Neath rampired Solidor. pleasant riding on the Ranee ! " 
How hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance ! 
Out burst all with one accord, 

"This is Paradise for Hell! 

Let France, let France's King 95 

Thank the man that did the thing! " 
What a shout, and all one word, 

"Herv6 Riel!" 
As he stepped in front once more. 

Not a symptom of surprise 100 

In the frank blue Breton eyes — 
Just the same man as before. 

IX 

Then said Damfreville, " My friend, 
I must speak out at the end. 

Though I find the speaking hard. 105 

90. Up to this point, which has received the most pleasure — the eye, 
the ear, or the muscular sense of motion ? 



88 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Praise is deeper than the lips : 
You have saved the King his ships, 
You must name your own reward. 
'Faith, our sun was near eclipse ! 

Demand whate'er you will, no 

France remains your debtor still. 

Ask to heart's content and have! or my name's not Dam- 
freville." 

X 

Then a beam of fun outbroke 

On the bearded mouth that spoke, 

As the honest heart laughed through 115 

Those frank eyes of Breton blue : 

" Since I needs must say my say. 

Since on board the duty's done — 

And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a 
run? — 
Since 'tis ask and have, I may — 120 

Since the others go ashore — 
Come ! A good whole holiday! 

Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle 
Aurore ! " 

That he asked and that he got — nothing more. 

XI 

Name and deed alike are lost: 125 

Not a pillar nor a post 

In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell; 
Not a head in white and black 
On a single fishing-smack, 
In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack 130 

All that France saved from the fight whence England bore 
the bell. 

131. "Bearing the bell" means being victorious. The allusion is to the 
fact that little bells were once used as prizes in athletic contests. 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



89 



Go to Paris : rank on rank 

Search the heroes flung pell-mell 
On the Louvre, face and flank ! 

You shall look long enough ere you come to Herv^ Riel. 135 
So, for better and for worse, 
Herve Riel, accept my verse ! 
In my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more 
Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle 
Aurore ! 

132-134. This merely means that there are thousands of portraits of 
French heroes in the gallery of the Louvre. 

Has the poem unity ? cHmax ? clearness ? force ? Is its melody injured 
by any harsh sounds ? Specify. 

THE DESERTER FROM THE CAUSE 
Gerald Massey 

He is gone : better so. We should know who stand under 

Our banner : let none but the trusty remain ! 
For there's stern work at hand, and the time comes shall 
sunder 

The shell from the pearl, and the chaff from the grain. 
And the heart that through danger and death will be dutiful, 

Soul that with Cranmer in fire would shake hands, 6 

With a life like a palace-home built for the beautiful. 

Freedom of all her beloved demands. 

He is gone from us ! Yet shall we march on victorious. 
Hearts burning like beacons — eyes fix'd on the goal ! 10 

And if we fall fighting, we fall like the glorious. 
With face to the stars, and all heaven in the soul. 

I. Name the line according to number of accents. Anapestic or dac- 
tyllic metre ? What kind of ending ? 2. What kind of ending ? 6. Cran- 
mer, burnt at the stake by Bloody Mary in 1556, thrust his right hand into 
the flames and let it burn first, because it had signed a cowardly recantation 
of his religious beUefs. 



QQ STUDY OF LITERATURE 

And aye for the brave stir of battle we'll barter 

The sword of life sheath'd in the peace of the grave; 

And better the fieriest fate of the martyr, 15 

Than live like the coward, and die like the slave ! 



HEATHER ALE: A GALLOWAY LEGEND 1 
Robert Louis Stevenson 

From the bonny bells of heather 

They brewed a drink long-syne, 
Was sweeter far than honey, 

Was stronger far than wine. 
They brewed it and they drank it, S 

And lay in a blessed swound 
For days and days together 

In their dwellings underground. 

There rose a king in Scotland, 

A fell man to his foes, 10 

He smote the Picts in battle, 

He hunted them like roes. 
Over miles of the red mountain 

He hunted as they fled, 
And strewed the dwarfish bodies 15 

Of the dying and the dead. 

Summer came in the country, 

Red was the heather bell; 
But the manner of the brewing 

Was none alive to tell. 20 

1 Reprinted from " Ballads," by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons. 

I. The metre is normally iambic, as appears in line 2; but, as so often 
happens in English, we have many substitutions of two short syllables for 
one long, thus : From the bonny bells 5f heather. 8. Might this stanza be 
written as four lines ? Would it be as pleasant so written ? 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 91 

In graves that were like children's 

On many a mountain head, 
The Brewsters of the Heather 

Lay numbered with the dead. 

The king in the red moorland 25 

Rode on a summer's day; 
And the bees hummed, and the curlews 

Cried beside the way. 
The king rode, and was angry; 

Black was his brow and pale, 30 

To rule in a land of heather 

And lack the Heather Ale. 

It fortuned that his vassals. 

Riding free on the heath. 
Came on a stone that was fallen 35 

And vermin hid beneath. 
E.udely plucked from their hiding. 

Never a word they spoke : 
A son and his aged father — 

Last of the dwarfish folk. 40 

The king sat high on his charger. 

He looked on the little men; 
And the dwarfish and swarthy couple 

Looked at the king again. 
Down by the shore he had them; 45 

And there on the giddy brink — 
" I will give you life, ye vermin. 

For the secret of the drink." 

There stood the son and father 

And they looked high and low; 5° 

The heather was red around them. 

The sea rumbled below. 



92 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 

And up and spoke the father, 

Shrill was his voice to hear : 
" I have a word in private, 55 

A word for the royal ear. 

" Life is dear to the aged, 

And honor a little thing; 
I would gladly sell the secret," 

Quoth the Pict to the king. 60 

His voice was small as a sparrow's, 

And shrill and wonderful clear : 
" I would gladly sell my secret. 

Only my son I fear. 

" For life is a little matter, 65 

And death is naught to the young; 
And I dare not sell my honor 

Under the eye of my son. 
Take him, O king, and bind him. 

And cast him far in the deep ; 70 

And it's I will tell the secret 

That I have sworn to keep." 

They took the son and bound him, 

Neck and heels in a thong, 
And a lad took him and swung him, 75 

And flung him far and strong. 
And the sea swallowed his body. 

Like that of a child of ten; — 
And there on the cliff stood the father, 

Last of the dwarfish men. 80 

" True was the word I told you : 

Only my son I feared; 
For I doubt the sapling courage 

That goes without the beard. 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



93 



But now in vain is the torture, 85 

Fire shall never avail : 
Here dies in my bosom 

The secret of Heather Ale." 

What colors are suggested in the ballad ? Why does not Stevenson 
linger on the pictures ? 



ADAM OF GORDON 

FOLK BALLAD 

It fell about the Martinmas, 

When the wind blew shrill and cold, 

Said Adam of Gordon to his men, 
" We maun draw to a hold. 

"And whatna hold shall we draw to, 5 

My merry men and me? 
We will go to the house of Rodes, 

To see that fair ladye." 

The lady stood on her castle wall; 

Beheld both dale and down; 10 

There she was aware of a host of men 

Came riding towards the town. 

" O see ye not, my merry men all, 

see ye not what I see ? 

Methinks I see a host of men : 15 

1 marvel who they be." 

4. maun draw to a hold, must proceed to a stronghold. 8. Iambic or 
trochaic ? Do accents fall on the syllables accented in ordinary speech ? 
Does not the folk ballad (see p. i) seem to differ, in this matter of the 
accent, from artificial, written poetry ? Can you see any reasons why 
this should be so ? 12. town, the castle. 



Q^ STUDY OF LITERATURE 

She had no sooner buskit herself, 

And putten on her gown, 
Till Adam of Gordon and his men 

Were round about the town. 20 

The lady ran to her tower-head, 

As fast as she could hie, 
To see if by her fair speeches 

She could with him agree. 

"Give o'er your house, ye lady fair, 25 

Give o'er your house to me ! 
Or I shall burn yourself therein. 

But and your babies three." 

"I winna give o'er, ye false Gordon, 

To no sic traitor as thee; 30 

And if ye burn my ain dear babes, 
My lord shall mak' ye dree. 

— "Woe worth, woe worth ye, Jock, my man; 
I paid ye well your fee; 

Why pull ye out the grund-wa' stone, 35 

Lets in the reek to me? 

"And e'en woe worth ye, Jock, my man! 

I paid ye well your hire; 
Why pull ye out the grund-wa' stone, 

To me lets in the fire? " 4° 

— "Ye paid me well my hire, ladye, 
Ye paid me well my fee; 

But now I'm Adam of Gordon's man, — 
Must either do or dee." 

17. buskit, clad. 22, In the Northern pronunciation, hie rhymes with 
agree ; cLXvae /\\. 28. (5?^/ a«if, and besides. 32. ^r^^, rue. 36. r^^.^, smoke. 



THE HEROISM OF WAR ge 

O then bespake her little. son, 45 

Sat on the nurse's knee; 
Says, "O mither dear, give o'er this house! 

For the reek it smothers me." 

— "I winna give up my house, my dear, 

To no sic traitor as he : 50 

Come weel, come woe, my jewel fair, 
Ye maun take share with me." 

O then bespake her daughter dear, — 

She was both jimp and small: 
" O row me in a pair of sheets, 55 

And tow me o'er the wall ! " 

They row'd her in a pair of sheets, 

And tow'd her o'er the wall; 
But on the point of Gordon's spear 

She gat a deadly fall. 60 

bonnie, bonnie was her mouth. 
And cherry were her cheeks. 

And clear, clear was her yellow hair. 
Whereon the red blood dreeps ! 

Then with his spear he turn'd her o'er; 65 

gin her face was wan ! 

He said, "Ye are the first that e'er 

1 wish'd alive again. 

'' Busk and boun, my merry men all, 

For ill dooms I do guess; — 70 

1 cannot look on that bonnie face 
As it lies on the grass." 

54, jimp, graceful. 55. row, roll, 66. gin, if. 69. busk and boun, make 
ready. 



96 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



But when the ladye saw the fire 

Come flaming o'er her head, 
She wept, and kiss'd her children twain, 75 

Says, "Bairns, we be but dead." 

— O this way look'd her own dear lord, 

As he came o'er the lea; 
He saw his castle all in a lowe. 

So far as he could see. 80 

" Put on, put on, my mighty men. 

As fast as ye can dri'e ! 
For he that's hindmost of the thrang 

Shall ne'er get good of me ! " 

Then some they rade, and some they ran, 85 

Out-o'er the grass and bent; 
But ere the foremost could win up. 

Both lady and babes were brent. 

And after the Gordon he is gane, 

Sae fast as he might dri'e; 90 

And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's blood 

He's wroken his fair ladye. 

79. lowe, flame. 82. dri'e, drive. 92. wroken, avenged. 
Is the ballad simple ? affecting ? Select what seems to you the most 
powerful stanza. Is there throughout the ballad a vivid appeal to the eye ? 



A PLANTATION HEROINE 
George Gary Eggleston 

It was nearing the end. 

Every resource of the Southern states had been taxed 
to the point of exhaustion. 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



97 



The people had given up everything they had for 
"the cause." 5 

Under the law of a "tax in kind," they had surren- 
dered all they could spare of food products of every 
character. Under an untamable impulse of patriotism 
they had surrendered much more than they could spare 
in order to feed the army. 10 

It was at such a time that I went to my home county 
on a little military business. I stopped for dinner at a 
house, the lavish hospitality of which had been a byword 
in the old days. 

It found before me at dinner the remnants of a cold 15 
boiled ham, some boiled mustard greens, which we Vir- 
ginians called "salad," a pitcher of buttermilk, some 
corn pones, and — nothing else. 

I carved the ham, and offered to serve it to the three 
women of the household. But they all declined. They 20 
made their dinner on salad, buttermilk, and corn bread, 
the latter eaten very sparingly, as I observed. The ham 
went only to myself and to the three convalescent 
wounded soldiers, who were guests in the house. 

Wounded men were at that time guests in every house 25 
in Virginia. 

I lay awake that night and thought over the circum- 
stance. The next morning I took occasion to have a 
talk on the old familiar terms with the young woman of 
the family, with whom I had been on a basis of friend- 30 
ship in the old days that even permitted me to kiss her 
upon due and proper occasion. 

"Why didn't you take some ham last night? " I asked 
urgently. 

"Oh, I didn't want it," she replied. 35 

14. Might the first five paragraphs better be combined in one ? 24. Might 
the sixth and seventh ? 
H 



98 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



"Now, you know you're fibbing," I said. "Tell me 
the truth, won't you?" 

She blushed, and hesitated. Presently she broke 
down and answered frankly : " Honestly, I did want the 
ham. I have hungered for meat for months. But I 40 
mustn't eat it, and I won't. You see the army needs 
all the food there is, and more. We women can't fight, 
though I don't see at all why they shouldn't let us, and 
so we are trying to feed the fighting men — and there 
aren't any others. We've made up our minds not to eat 45 
anything that can be sent to the front as rations." 

"You are starving yourselves," I exclaimed. 

"Oh, no," she said. "And if we were, what would it 
matter? Haven't Lee's soldiers starved many a day? 
But we aren't starving. You see we had plenty of salad 5° 
and buttermilk last night. And we even ate some of the 
corn bread. I must stop that, by the way, for corn meal 
is a good ration for the soldiers." 

A month or so later this frail but heroic young girl 
was laid away in the Grub Hill churchyard. 55 

Don't talk to me about the "heroism " that braves a 
fire of hell under enthusiastic impulse. That young 
girl did a higher act of self-sacrifice than any soldier 
who fought on either side during the war ever dreamed 
of doing. 60 

THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA 
John Greenleaf Whittier 

Speak and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away, 
O'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array. 
Who is losing? who is winning? are they far or come 
they near? 

I. Ximena {zimdynyd). Is the metre iambic or trochaic? 



THE HEROISM OF WAR qq 

Look abroad, and tell us, sister, whither rolls the storm we 

hear. 
"Down the hills of Angostura still the storm of battle rolls; 
Blood is flowing, men are dying, God have mercy on their 

souls! " 6 

Who is losing? who is winning? — "Over hill and over 

plain, 
I see but smoke of cannon clouding through the mountain 

rain." 

Holy Mother! keep our brothers! Look, Ximena, look 

once more: 
"Still I see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as 

before, lo 

Bearing on, in strange confusion, friend and foeman, foot 

and horse. 
Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its 

mountain course." 

Look forth once more, Ximena! "Ah! the smoke has 

rolled away; 
And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of 

gray. 
Hark! that sudden blast of bugles! there the troop of 

Minon wheels; is 

There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at 

their heels. 

" Jesu, pity ! how it thickens ! now retreat and now advance ! 
Right against the blazing cannon shivers Puebla's charging 

lance ! 
Down they go, the brave young riders; horse and foot 

together fall; 
Like a ploughshare in the fallow, through them plough 

the Northern ball." 20 



lOO STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Nearer came the storm and nearer, rolling fast and fright- 
ful on: 

Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us, who has lost, and who 
has won? 

"Alas! alas! I know not; friend and foe together fall. 

O'er the dying rush the living : pray, my sisters, for them 
all!" 

" Lo ! the wind the smoke is lifting : Blessed Mother, save 

my brain ! 25 

I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of 

slain. 
Now they stagger, blind and bleeding; now they fall, and 

strive to rise; 
Hasten, sisters, haste and save them, lest they die before 

our eyes! " 

"Oh my heart's love! oh my dear one! lay thy poor head 

on my knee; 
Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? Canst thou hear 

me? canst thou see? 3° 

Oh, my husband, brave and gentle! oh, my Bernal, look 

once more 
On the blessed cross before thee! mercy! mercy! all is 

o'er!" 

Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena; lay thy dear one down to 

rest; 
Let his hands be meekly folded, lay the cross upon his 

breast; 
Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses 

said; 35 

To-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid. 

29. Here Ximena speaks. There are two speakers in this poem besides 
the poet; is there a dialogue, or are there two monologues ? 



THE HEROISM OF WAR lOi 

Close beside her, faintly moaning, fair and young, a 

soldier lay, 
Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow his 

life away; 
But, as tenderly before him, the lorn Ximena knelt, 
She saw the Northern eagle shining on his pistol belt. 40 



With a stifled cry of horror straight she turned away her 

head; 
With a sad and bitter feeling looked she back upon her 

dead; 
But she heard the youth's low moaning, and his struggling 

breath of pain. 
And she raised the cooling water to his parching lips again. 

Whispered low the dying soldier, pressed her hand and 

faintly smiled : 45 

Was that pitying face his mother's ? did she watch beside 

her child? 
All his stranger words with meaning her woman's heart 

supplied; 
With her kiss upon his forehead, " Mother ! " murmured 

he, and died ! 

"A bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who led thee 

forth. 
From some gentle, sad-eyed mother, weeping, lonely, in 

the North!" 50 

Spake the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with 

her dead. 
And turned to soothe the living, and bind the wounds 

which bled. 



I02 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Look forth once more, Ximena ! " Like a cloud before the 

wind 
Rolls the battle down the mountains, leaving blood and 

death behind; 
Ah ! they plead in vain for mercy; in the dust the wounded 

strive; 55 

Hide your faces, holy angels! oh, thou Christ of God, 

forgive ! " 

Sink, oh Night, among thy Mountains ! let the cool, gray 

shadows fall; 
Dying brothers, fighting demons, drop thy curtain over 

all! 
Through the thickening winter twilight, wide apart the 

battle rolled. 
In its sheath the sabre rested, and the cannon's lips grew 

cold. 60 

But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pur- 
sued. 

Through that long, dark night of sorrow, worn and faint 
and lacking food; 

Over weak and suffering brothers, with a tender care they 
hung, 

And the dying foeman blessed them in a strange and 
Northern tongue. 

Not wholly lost, oh Father! is this evil world of ours; 65 
Upward, through its blood and ashes, spring afresh the 

Eden flowers; 
From its smoking hell of battle. Love and Pity send their 

prayer. 
And still thy white-winged angels hover dimly in our air! 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 103 

DECORATION! 

Manibus date lilia plenis 
Thomas Wentworth Higginson 

'Mid the flower- wreathed tombs I stand, 
Bearing lilies in my hand. 
Comrades ! in what soldier-grave 
Sleeps the bravest of the brave? 

Is it he who sank to rest 5 

With his colors round his breast? 
Friendship makes his tomb a shrine, 
Garlands veil it; ask not mine. 

One low grave, yon trees beneath, 

Bears no roses, wears no wreath; 10 

Yet no heart more high and warm 

Ever dared the battle-storm. 

Never gleamed a prouder eye 

In the front of victory; 

Never foot had firmer tread 15 

On the field where hope lay dead, 

Than are hid within this tomb, 

Where the untended grasses bloom; 

And no stone with feigned distress. 

Mocks the sacred loneliness. 20 

1 Reprinted from The Afternoon Landscape, by permission of Longmans, 
Green, & Co. 

The Latin motto means " Strew handfuls of lilies." It is from Vergil, 
and refers to the death of the young Roman prince, Marcellus, son of 
Augustus Csesar. The whole poem may be compared with Bryant's The 
Conqueror s Grave. 

4. Do the simple, regular metre and simple rhyme-scheme (couplets) 
fit the theme? 



I04 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Youth and beauty, dauntless will, 
Dreams that life could ne'er fulfil 
Here lie buried, — here in peace 
Wrongs and woes have found release. 

Turning from my comrades' eyes, 25 

Kneeling where a woman lies, 
I strew lilies on the grave 
Of the bravest of the brave. 



THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE 
Charles Wolfe 

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note. 
As his corse to the rampart we hurried; 

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 

We buried him darkly at dead of night, s 

The sods with our bayonets turning; 
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, 

And the lantern dimly burning. 

No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 

Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; 10 

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest 

With his martial cloak around him. 

Few and short were the prayers we said, 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow; 
But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, 15 

And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 

I. Name the line according to the accents and predominant foot. What 
ending ? 2. What ending ? Does it hasten the movement ? 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 



105 



We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, 

And smoothed down his lonely pillow. 
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, 

And we far away on the billow ! 20 

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, 

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — 
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on 

In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 

But half of our heavy task was done, 25 

When the clock struck the hour for retiring; 

iVnd we heard the distant and random gun 
That the foe was sullenly firing. 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down. 

From the field of his fame fresh and gory; 30 

We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone — 

But we left him alone with his glory ! 

Which stanza presents the most striking picture ? Which appeals the 
most to the ear ? Which seems the most genuine in its sadness ? 

ON THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

William Pitt, Earl of Chatham 

I cannot, my lords, I will not, join in congratulation 
on misfortune and disgrace. This, my lords, is a peril- 
ous and tremendous moment : it is not a time for adula- 
tion : the smoothness of flattery cannot save us in this 
rugged and awful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct 5 
the throne, in the language of truth. We must, if pos- 
sible, dispel the delusion and darkness which envelop 
it; and display, in its full danger and genuine colors, 
the ruin which is brought to our doors. Can ministers 
still presume to expect support in their infatuation? 10 



I06 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Can Parliament be so dead to its dignity and duty as to 
give their support to measures thus obtruded and forced 
upon them — measures, my lords, which have reduced 
this late flourishing empire to scorn and contempt. But 
yesterday, "and England might have stood against the 15 
world — NOW, none so poor to do her reverence." The 
people we at first despised as rebels, but whom we now 
acknowledge as enemies, are abetted against you, sup- 
plied with every military store, their interests consulted, 
and their ambassadors entertained by your inveterate 20 
enemy; and our ministers do not, and dare not, inter- 
pose with dignity or effect. The desperate state of our 
army abroad is in part known. No man more highly 
esteems and honors the English troops than I do: I 
know their virtue and their valor: I know they can 25 
achieve anything except impossibilities; and I know 
that the conquest of English America is an impossibility. 
You cannot, my lords, you cannot conquer America. 
What is your present situation there? We do not know 
the worst, but we know that in three campaigns we have 30 
done nothing, and suffered much. You may swell every 
expense, and strain every effort, accumulate every as- 
sistance, and extend your traffic to the shambles of every 
German despot; your attempts forever will be vain and 
impotent; doubly so indeed from this mercenary aid on 35 
which you rely; for it irritates to an incurable resent- 
ment the minds of your adversaries to overrun them with 
the mercenary sons of rapine and plunder, devoting 
them and their possessions to the rapacity of hireling 
cruelty. If I were an American, as I am an English- 40 
man, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I 
never would lay down my arms — never ! never ! never ! 

Is the language of this passage colloquial or elevated ? Is it high-flown, 
or was it warranted by the occasion ? 



THE HEROISM OF WAR 107 



CONCORD HYMN 

SUNG AT THE COMPLETION OF THE BATTLE MONUMENT, 
APRIL 19, 1836 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 

By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, 

Here once the embattled farmers stood, 
And fired the shot heard round the world. 

The foe long since in silence slept; 

Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; 
And Time the ruined bridge has swept 

Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. 



zo 



On this green bank, by this soft stream, 

We set to-day a votive stone; 
That memory may their deed redeem. 

When, like our sires, our sons are gone. 

Spirit, that made those heroes dare 
To die, and leave their children free, 

Bid Time and Nature gently spare ^S 

The shaft we raise to them and thee. 

2. Name the line according to accents and feet. 3- embattled \% 2.^0x6. 
of Emerson's coinage ; is it good ? 9. '^\vj soft? 

This poem was sung as a hymn. Which of the following things are 
particularly desirable in a hymn : elaborate phrases ; words easily under- 
stood ; complex, skilfully varied metre (like that of The Revenge); even, 
regular metre ; tripping movement ; stately movement ; simple thought ; 
complex thought; overwhelming emotion; sincere but controlled emotion? 



I08 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Plan of Summary. — Reviewing the chapter, (i) enumerate the 
kinds of metre, designating them by the number of accents and the pre- 
dominant foot. Then (2) say which poem is most noticeable for melody; 
(3) which for beauty of suggested sights; (4) which for pleasure 
of suggested sounds; (5) which for pleasure of suggested activity; 
(6) which for pleasure of suggested odors or tastes; (7) which is most 
easily understood; (8) which moves the reader most deeply; (9) which 
shows most skill in character drawing; (10) which has the best unity; 

(11) which, your critical judgment tells you, is the best piece of work; 

(12) which you like the best, — without regard to its deserved rank, or 
its fame. 



CHAPTER III 

THE HEROISM OF PEACE 

Though wars have sometimes been a moral necessity, as Hannah 
Miss Clarke implies in her stirring ballad of our American *^^ Quak- 

eress, 

Revolution, and though, in Douglas Jerrold's words, "There p. 117. 
is a peace more destructive of the manhood of living man 
than war is destructive to his material body," yet honorable 
peace is man's noblest achievement. When blood is up 
and thirst for revenge is hot, it is easy to go on fighting to 
the death. There are nations that live in eternal war with 
each other. Even in civilized lands, there are families 
between which exist feuds of centuries' standing. It is 
distinctly heroic, therefore, to be quickly reconciled with Reconcili; 
an enemy. Walt Whitman, as he pictures a soldier gazing ^°"' ^' ^^' 
upon the dead face of his foe, declares Reconciliation to 
be the most beautiful word in the world. 

It is hard for the victor to refrain from unheroic exulta- 
tion over his enemy, and harder for the vanquished to take 
up his broken life and make the most of it. Consider the The Con- 
case of the Southern soldier, whom Mr. Grady, in a brill- ^ ,^'.^*^ 

' -^ ' Soldier 

iant speech, sketched as returning to his ruined home, after the 
Northern youth of to-day cannot appreciate what it has '^^^"■P-^^. 
cost the Southerners to reconstruct the South. 

It is a great thing to save a state by force of arms. It 
is a greater thing to save it afterward from dishonesty and 
corruption. The soldiers who fought the battles of the 
Civil War found another fight to wage when they got home. 
Military heroes, both Northern and Southern, had now to 

109 



no 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



The Ar- 
senal at 
Spring- 
field, p. 123. 



The Three 
Fishers, 
p. 125. 

A Sea 
Story, 
p. 126. 

Patroling 
Barnegat, 
p. 127. 



protect the nation from greedy office -seeking and traitorous 
office-using. The poet Bayard Taylor told the Union vet- 
erans, as long ago as 1877, that their hardest work was yet 
to do. He declared that to the soldier of peace each true 
man is a friend, each false man a foe. Longfellow hated 
war almost as much as he hated slavery. In one of his 
strongest short poems he declared that half the money spent 
on camps and forts could be so spent as to remove all need 
of camps and forts. 

Peace hath her victories, 
No less renowned than war, 

sings Milton. Yet few of the individuals who win the vic- 
tories of peace can be renowned. Homer says of a particu- 
lar hour's fight that it were hard for him, though he were a 
god, to tell of all the deeds. Many a gallant fellow dies in 
battle without hope of the poet's praise, but more suffer a 
similar fate in time of peace. It is the unsung courage of 
nameless men that keeps the world moving. The fisherman 
on the winter ocean, the patrolman on the coast, the miner 
in the fire-damp, the engineer at the throttle, the fireman 
in the burning house, the nurse and the doctor in the 
plague, — all these are splendidly intrepid. Of a thousand 
such heroes but few have passed into literature. The duty 
of all fishermen stands out sternly in Kingsley's song of the 
three who lay dead on the shining sands. A young sailor 
relaxing his hold on the tiny raft, to save his friend who 
has a family, is the theme of Miss Hickey's A Sea Story. 
In Whitman's Patroling Barnegat, the life-saver struggles 
steadily through the blinding night on his humane mission. 
The self-sacrifice of a rough miner is honored in one of 
Bret Harte's poems {In the Tunnel), and in another 
{Guild's Signal) that of the engineer who disdains to jump 
from his engine. The fidelity of Conductor Bradley did 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE m 

not escape the notice of Whittier. The nurse in the plague 

has never been written of more affectingly than by Mrs. 

Phelps Ward in her story of the murderer Zerviah Hope, 

who washed out his crime by giving his life for others. 

The doctor appears in Whittier' s The Hero as achieving 

the impossible. This particular hero was Dr. Howe, who, 

with infinite patience and skill, taught Laura Bridgman. 

He found a way of enriching life for those born without 

sight, hearing, and speech. Dr. Holmes has also praised 

the physician, in his poem of The Two Armies. The duty 

of one army is to slay; that of the other, the far nobler 

band, is to save. A great fire reveals heroism not merely 

in the ordinary fireman, like him of Mrs. Mulock Craik's 

A T'rue Hero, but in other people. Lowell tells — An 

Incident of the Fire at Hamburgh — how, when the flames An inci- 

were beating down his church, the old sexton stood by his dent of the 

° ^ Fire at 

bells, and chimed, "All good souls praise the Lord," until Ham- 

the tower came crashing down. burgh, 

1 • T . 1 . 1 1 P- 128. 

Recognized or unrecognized m literature, great deeas 

are not lacking in common life. Mr. Kipling is said to 

have declared that there will be no dearth of subjects for 

literature so long as the daily paper exists. Certainly that 

is true of themes for heroic ballads. To-day it is the 

account of a gamin unconcernedly losing an arm in saving 

his chum amid the maze of tracks; to-morrow, that of a 

painter dashing before a car and yielding his life for a 

stranger's child, — I refer to Hovenden, whose picture, 

"Breaking Home Ties," was at the Fair of 1893. It may 

be a report of fine humanity from a quarter where it was 

least expected. Dr. Conan Doyle has versified such a report 

of a sporting man. He was a quiet fellow, riding to the 

hounds with a party of friends. It is the custom of fox- -ware 

hunters to call out " 'Ware Holes," when they see a rabbit- Holes, 

P' ISO- 
burrow that may trip those behind. The "gent from 



112 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

London " ran at full speed upon a deep, hidden quarry. 
He went down easily to his death, calmly singing out, 
" 'Ware Holes," — and saved all three who were just behind 
him.-^ 

The severest tests of heroism come when the hero has no 
immediate pattern to work by. Most persons have imagined 
themselves saving another's life, — though, indeed, that is 
not the same thing as performing the feat. But the actual 
demands for heroism are often of an unexpected sort. A 
new species of courage must be shown. A "loftier way," 
as Emerson said, must be found. For example, if physical 
courage is demanded, it is apt to be some absurd thing like 
controlling an irritable nerve. New forms of bravery are 
constantly being exhibited. Even in children the highest 
courage in enduring pain, both physical and mental, is 
often seen. The mere pains of fear felt by children are 
inconceivable to grown persons, — fear of the dark, fear of 
animals, fear of the bully, fear of ridicule, fear of death. 
To overcome any of these is a great achievement for a 
child. The following anecdote by Dr. Clay Trumbull, of 
Philadelphia, would be incredible to any but those who 
have studied children: — 

"There was a tender-hearted, loving child in a New 
England home, to whom life was all gladness and joy. He 
loved as he was loved, and he was worthy of all the love 
which was given to him. One day, as he was starting out 
for a ride with his parents, he asked them where they were 
going; and they told him that they were going to take him 
up to the new cemetery, a beautiful city of the dead by the 
river's bank, beyond the town. His bright face grew 

1 On the day that these lines were sent to the printer, the newspapers 
were reporting the heroic death of a sporting man in New York. Mr. James 
McDonald threw his runaway horse to save a collision with approaching 
carriages. In so doing he was obliged to sacrifice his own life and that 
of his horse. 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE u^ 

shadowed, and his little lips quivered, so that his father 
asked him, 'Why, Willy, don't you want to go there?' 
Quietly the trustful answer came back, ' Yes, if you think 
it best, papa.' And they rode on silently, in through the 
broad gateway; on, along the lovely tree-shaded and turf- 
bordered avenues. 

" That bright boy seemed strangely quiet, clinging in love 
to his mother's side, and looking up from time to time 
with a face that seemed never so beautiful in its restful 
confidence. As they finally passed out again from the 
gateway they had entered, the dear child drew a breath of 
relief, and, looking up in new surprise, asked, 'Why, am 
I going back with you again? ' ' Of course you are. Why 
should you doubt it ? ' ' Why, I thought that when they 
took little children to the cemetery, they left them there,' 
said that hero-child. 

"And then it was found that with a child's imperfect 
knowledge that dear boy had supposed he was being taken, 
at the call of God, and by the parents whom he loved and 
trusted, to be buried in the place which he had heard of 
only as a place of burial. And all by himself he had had 
the struggle with himself, and had proved the victor." ^ 

Children know so little of life that they can hardly be 
expected to have courage ; they have few grounds for cour- 
age. Imagine an orphan girl in the hospital, a little crea- 
ture like that in Mr. Henley's Enter Patient. Imagine Enter Pa- 
this child overhearing a surgeon say that she must undergo ^lent, p.13: 
an operation from which she can hardly hope to recover. 
Some idea of what an operation means can be had from Operation, 
Mr. Henley's poem on that subject. There is no parent P- ^33- 
to assure her that it will "not hurt much"; that "father 
will hold her hand all the while." Now we get the situa- in the 
tion in Tennyson's poem on little Emmie. Her childish Children s 

■^ ^ Hospital, 

1 "Character-shaping and Character-showing." P* ^34- 

I 



114 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



San Lo- 
renzo Gius 
tiniani's 
Mother, 
P- 139. 



heart is shaken with fear, but she asks advice of Annie, 
who lies in the next cot. Annie advises an appeal to the 
Lord Jesus — on the wall there is a print of Him among 
the children. But Emmie is sceptical; how will He know 
who is who, among so many cots in the ward. " Tell Him 
it is the little girl with her arms lying out on the counter- 
pane." This device serves, and Emmie falls asleep with 
courageous heart. In that repose of faith she is permitted 
to slip away into the world of light. 

As life grows more complex, the occasions for unobserved 
courage become more numerous. San Lorenzo's mother, 
in Mrs. Meynell's lovely poem, had given her son to the 
cloister, and had not seen him since he reached his man- 
hood. When one day a member of his order came, she 
thought she recognized her boy, and her heart sprang to 
meet him. But she had given him absolutely to the holy 
cause, and she would neither come between him and it, 
nor allow him to hide from her the Son that cannot change. 
Perhaps she was mistaken in her duty, but could any action 
be braver? 

The poet Whittier celebrated many instances of moral 
courage. It was he who wrote of the Scotch Quaker Bar- 
clay, prefixing to his poem these words : " Among the earli- 
ry, p. 140. gg^ converts to the doctrine of Friends, in Scotland, was 
Barclay of Ury, an old and distinguished soldier, who had 
fought under Gustavus Adolphus, in Germany. As a 
Quaker, he became the object of persecution and abuse at 
the hands of the magistrates and the populace. None bore 
the indignities of the mob with greater patience and noble- 
ness of soul than this once proud gentleman and soldier. 
One of his friends, on an occasion of uncommon rudeness, 
lamented that he should be treated so harshly in his old 
age, who had been so honored before. ^I find more satis- 
faction,' said Barclay, *as well as honor in being thus 



Barclay of 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE jjc 

insulted for my religious principles, than when, a few years 
ago, it was usual for the magistrates, as I passed the city of 
Aberdeen, to meet me on the road and conduct me to 
public entertainment in their hall, and then escort me out 
again, to gain my favor.' " 

The same poet's hero, Davenport, was a man of superb 
self-control. About ten on the morning of 19th May, 
1780, a strange darkness fell upon New England. To this 
day astronomers are not sure what caused it. In the Con- 
necticut State House the legislators, fearful of the Judg- 
ment Day, were on the point of breaking up, when Abraham 
Davenport addressed the assembly and brought it to its 
senses. He admitted that this might be the Judgment Day, 

but 

Let God do his work, we will see to ours. 

Bring in the candles. And they brought them in. 

That old New England blood was not watery. The Pil- 
grims were fanatics, perhaps, but much may be pardoned 
a fanatic if he is also a hero; and heroes they were. 
To cross, for conscience' sake, an unknown sea to a land 
of savages, where one is almost certain to perish, is an 
adequate test of moral courage. Of the poems that have Landing 
been written about the Pilgrims, that by Mrs. Hemans is Je Piigr 

° ' ^ Fathers 1 

the most stirring, though Bryant's is finished and dignified. New En| 
A recent writer, Mrs. Stetson, has pointed out very em- land, p. i, 
phatically the lack of the heroic in the business life. With Twenty- 
what splendid scorn she repeats the common phrase "A second o 
man must live ! " Imagine, she says, a soldier with that for g 
a battle-cry ! Mr. Heman White Chaplin has a story called "A Man 
Eli.'^ in which he pictures the high courage which faces "^"^^ 

.... . Live," 

loss of money, friends, and social position. A certain p, 147. 
fisherman is summoned for jury service in a trial for bank 

1 In the admirable volume, " Five Hundred Dollars, and Other Stories." 
Boston : Little, Brown, & Co. 



Il6 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

robbery. He believes the accused man innocent, though 
all the evidence is against him. Eli stands out against the 
persuasion of the other jurors. They give him to under- 
stand what such determination to defeat justice will mean. 
"Lively times some folks'U hev', when they go home," 
said a spare tin-peddler, stroking his long yellow goatee. 
"Go into the store: nobody speak to you; go to cattle- 
show: everybody follow you 'round; go to the wharf: 
nobody weigh your fish; go to buy seed-cakes to the cart: 
baker won't give no tick." The butcher asks the foreman 
how much it costs "for a man 't's obliged to leave town, to 
move a family out West." A friend says to Eli, "They can 
kill your wife and break down your children. Women and 
children can't stand it." But Eli holds out, nor is he 
mistaken in his man. 

The Hero, According to Robert Nicoll, the hero is not the soldier. 

p. 148. "Go, mock at conquerors and kings." They are the 

inferiors of the poor man who works hard and makes no 
man, woman, or child unhappy. On the whole, young 
Nicoll was probably right. So was Whittier, when he said, 
in the poem on Dr. Howe, — 

Dream not helm and harness 

The sign of valor true ; 
Peace hath higher tests of manhood 

Than battle ever knew. 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE u^ 



[From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1898, by Harper & 

Brothers] 



HANNAH THE QUAKERESS 

an incident of the revolution 
Ednah Proctor Clarke 

Hannah the Quakeress sat 

And knit, by the parlor door; 
And she heard within the Brethren's feet 

Pacing her sanded floor j 

For to-day — in the hour of fear, 5 

Of defeat by land and sea. 
When despair had clutched the hearts that fought 

Or prayed for Liberty, 

When lives and gold seemed flung 

In a useless, hopeless fight 10 

Waged by a handful of ragged boys 

Against great England's might, 

They had met at Friend Isaac's house 

To vote for a shameful peace. 
(Better their gold with a tyrant's bond 15 

Than Freedom's beggared lease!) 

And Hannah, who curtsied them in 

By two and three and four. 
With their brooding lips and their troubled eyes. 

Thought, as she scanned them o'er: 20 



Il3 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

"They're wanting no woman's word; 

My counsel they'd scorn and mock; 
But I'll set my chair by the parlor door, 

And turn the heel of my sock." 

She was the gentlest dame, 25 

The most dutiful wife, in town; 
Never a glint of her heart's fire slipped 

'Neath the veil of her lashes brown. 

But swifter her needles clicked 

As the wavering footsteps went 30 

To and fro till for " Peace ! " for " Peace ! " 

The clamorous voices blent. 

" Peace ! " — and her knitting stopped 

As the dastard votes were cast — 
As the Elder read them one by one — 35 

And Isaac's name was the last! 

Ah ! — in through the wide-flung door 

Burst Hannah the Quakeress then, 
And with heaving bosom and storming brow 

She faced the astounded men. 4° 

The blue yarn sock in her hand 

Shook with its bristling steel 
As she snatched the votes from the Elder's grasp 

And ground them beneath her heel. 

"Shame on you — traitors — cowards — 45 

Who fail at your Country's need ! 
Who would sell your birthright, sell your souls 

In your paltry selfish greed ! 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE 



119 



" We want not your Tory gold ! 

The Lord God shields our right ! 50 

Yea, as He guided Israel's host, 

A pillar of fire by night, 

" He will lead our Armies on ! 

And when our land is free " — 
The blue sock waved like a flag of war — 55 

"Traitors ! where will you be? " 

Speechless the Council stood, 

Dumb 'neath that storm of shame. 
Till Isaac gasped : " She is distraught ! 

Out ! — to thy knitting, dame ! " 60 

Then how she flamed and turned ! 

" Distraught with shame of thee ! 
Yea, Isaac Arnett, hold thy tongue — 

Thou'lt take this word from me! 

" Now, as the Lord doth hear, 65 

Choose thou 'twixt peace and strife. 

I married thee for an honest man; 
I'll be no traitor's wife! 

"Thou canst keep thy house and thy King. 

I know my Country's worth ! 70 

I'd rather starve in her frozen fields 

Than feed at a traitor's hearth ! " 

Flushed Isaac's cold cheek then; 

The Brethren hung their heads; 
And the Elder lifted the trampled votes 75 

And tore them into shreds. 



I20 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

"Thank God in this nest of fear 

There beats one loyal heart! 
Hannah Arnett, to us this day 

A Flame of the Lord thou art ! 80 

" Friends, when a woman leads, 

No man is laggard found ! 
Here, to my Country's need and War 

I pledge an hundred pound." 

Then the Elder lifted his pen 85 

And wrote his gift and name. 
While with ten and twenty and fifty more 

The Brethren crowding came; 

And stirred as the great deep stirs 

When a tempest smites the sea, 90 

They pledged their honor, wealth, and lives 

Again to Liberty ! 

And what of Hannah the dame. 

With her heart of fire and steel? 
Oh ! she smoothed her kerchief, and set her cap, 95 

And finished her stocking heel. 



RECONCILIATION! 

Walt Whitman 

Word over all, beautiful as the sky. 

Beautiful that war and all its deeds of carnage must in time 

be utterly lost, 
That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly 

softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world; 

1 Reprinted by permission of Small, Maynard, & Co. 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE ^21 

For my enemy is dead, a man divine as myself is dead, 
I look where he lies white-faced and still in the coffin — I 

draw near, 5 

Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in 

the cofifin. 

Having read the poem through silently several times, say whether it has 
a definite metre ; if not, whether it is rhythmical at all. 

Is any sense except the eye definitely appealed to? Which picture in 
the poem is the most vivid? Which is the most imaginative? 



THE CONFEDERATE SOLDIER AFTER THE WAR i 
Henry Woodfen Grady 

You of the North have had drawn for you with a 
master's hand the picture of your returning armies. You 
have heard how, in the pomp and circumstance of war, 
they came back to you, marching with proud and vic- 
torious tread, reading their glory in a nation's eyes! 5 
Will you bear with me while I tell you of another army 
that sought its home at the close of the late war — an 
army that marched home in defeat and not in victory, 
in pathos and not in splendor, but in glory that equalled 
yours, and to hearts as loving as ever welcomed heroes 10 
home? Let me picture to you the footsore Confederate 
soldier, as, buttoning up in his faded gray jacket the 
parole which was to bear testimony to his children of 

1 Reprinted from "The New South," by permission of Robert Bonner's 
Sons, publishers of the New York Ledger. 

5. The last seven words are a quotation from Gray's famous Elegy 
written in a Cou7itry Churchyard. Mr. Grady does not use quotation 
marks here, for he assumes that his audience will recognize the quotation. 
The words thus treated may be called an embedded quotation. 11-54. Note 
that the skilful orator understands the power of images. 



122 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

his fidelity and faith, he turned his face southward 
from Appomattox in April, 1865. Think of him as 15 
ragged, half-starved, heavy-hearted, enfeebled by want 
and wounds; having fought to exhaustion, he surrenders 
his gun, wrings the hands of his comrades in silence, 
and lifting his tear-stained and pallid face for the last 
time to the graves that dot the old Virginia hills, pulls 20 
his gray cap over his brow and begins the slow and 
painful journey. What does he find — let me ask you, 
who went to your homes eager to find in the welcome 
you had justly earned, full payment for four years' sac- 
rifice — what does he find when, having followed the 25 
battle-stained cross against overwhelming odds, dread- 
ing death not half so much as surrender, he reaches the 
home he left so prosperous and beautiful? He finds his 
house in ruins, his farm devastated, his slaves free, his 
stock killed, his barns empty, his trade destroyed, 30 
his money worthless; his social system, feudal in its 
magnificence, swept away; his people without law or 
legal status, his comrades slain, and the burdens of 
others heavy on his shoulders. Crushed by defeat, his 
very traditions are gone; without money, credit, em- 35 
ployment, material, or training; and besides all this, 
confronted with the gravest problem that ever met 
human intelligence — the establishing of a status for the 
vast body of his liberated slaves. 

What does he do — this hero in gray with a heart of 40 
gold? Does he sit down in suUenness and despair? 
Not for a day. Surely God, who had stripped him of 
his prosperity, inspired him in his adversity. As ruin 
was never before so overwhelming, never was restoration 
swifter. The soldier stepped from the trenches into the 45 
furrow; horses that had charged Federal guns marched 
before the plough, and fields that ran red with blood in 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE 



123 



April were green with the harvest in June. Never was 
nobler duty confided to human hands than the uplifting 
and building of the prostrate and bleeding South, mis- 50 
guided, perhaps, but beautiful in her suffering; and 
honest, brave, and generous always. In the record of 
her social, industrial, and political evolution we await 
with confidence the verdict of the world. 



THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, 
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms; 

But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing 
Startles the villages with strange alarms. 

Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, s 

When the death-angel touches those swift keys ! 

What loud lament and dismal Miserere 
Will mingle with their awful symphonies ! 

I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus. 

The cries of agony, the endless groan, 10 

Which, through the ages that have gone before us, 

In long reverberations reach our own. 

On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer. 

Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song. 

And loud, amid the universal clamor, 15 

O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. 

I hear the Florentine, who from his palace 
Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din. 

And Aztec priests upon their teocallis 

Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin; 20 



124 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



The tumult of each sacked and burning village; 

The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns; 
The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage; 

The wail of famine in beleaguered towns; 

The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, 25 

The rattling musketry, the clashing blade; 

And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, 
The diapason of the cannonade. 

Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, 

With such accursed instruments as these, 30 

Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices. 

And j arrest the celestial harmonies? 

Were half the power, that fills the world with terror, 
Were half the wealth, bestowed on camps and courts, 

Given to redeem the human mind from error, 35 

There were no need of arsenals nor forts : 

The warrior's name would be a name abhorred! 

And every nation, that should lift again 
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead 

Would wear for evermore the curse of Cain ! 40 

Down the dark future, through long generations. 
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease; 

And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, 

I hear once more the voice of Christ say, "Peace ! " 

Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals 45 

The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies! 

But beautiful as songs of the immortals, 
The holy melodies of love arise. 

Does Longfellow succeed in carrying the image of the organ through 
the poem? 

Does the poet make his appeal chiefly to the eye or to the ear? Why? 
What emotions does the poem arouse? 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE 



125 



THE THREE FISHERS 
Charles Kingsley 

Three fishers went sailing out into the West, 

Out into the West as the sun went down; 
Each thought on the woman who lov'd him the best; 

And the children stood watching them out of the town; 
For men m.ust work, and women must weep, 5 

And there's little to earn, and many to keep, 
Though the harbor bar be moaning. 

Three wives sat up in the light-house tower. 

And they trimm'd the lamps as the sun went down; 

They look'd at the squall, and they look'd at the shower, 10 
And the night rack came rolling up ragged and brown ! 

But men must work, and women must weep. 

Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, 
And the harbor bar be moaning. 

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands 15 

In the morning gleam as the tide went down. 

And the women are weeping and wringing their hands 
For those who will never come back to the town; 

For men must work, and women must weep. 

And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep — 20 

And good-by to the bar and its moaning. 

This poem has often been set to music — a pretty sure sign that it is 
melodious. Is the refrain impressive? 

Is the story told continuously, or by scenes? Which is the better way 
for a narrative song? Why? 



126 STUDY OF LITERATURE 



A SEA STORY 
Emily H. Hickey 

Silence. Awhile ago 
Shrieks went up piercingly; 
But now is the ship gone down; 
Good ship, well manned, was she. 
There's a raft that's a chance of life for one, 5 

This day upon the sea. 

A chance for one of two; 
Young, strong, are he and he, 
Just in the manhood prime, 

The comelier, verily, 10 

For the wrestle with wind and weather and wave 
In the life upon the sea. 

One of them has a wife 
And little children three; 

Two that can toddle and lisp, 15 

And a suckling on the knee; 
Naked they'll go and hunger sore, 
If he be lost at sea. 

One has a dream of home, 

A dream that well may be; 20 

He never has breathed it yet; 
She never has known it, she. 
But some one will be sick at heart, 
If he be lost at sea. 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE 



127 



" Wife and kids at home ! — 25 

Wife^ kids, nor home has he! — 

Give us a chance, Bill! " Then, 

"All right, Jem!" Quietly 

A man gives up his life for a man, 

This day upon the sea. 30 

Is this poem as musical as The Three Fishers ? Which of the stanzas 
would sing best? Is the refrain impressive? Would the narrative in the 
last stanza be more or less impressive if it were less condensed and 
abrupt? 



PATROLING BARNEGATi 
Walt Whitman 

Wild, wild the storm, and the sea high running, 
Steady the roar of the gale, with incessant undertone mut- 
tering. 
Shouts of demoniac laughter fitfully piercing and pealing. 
Waves, air, midnight, their savagest trinity lashing. 
Out in the shadows there milk-white combs careering, s 
On beachy slush and sand spirts of snow fierce slanting, 
Where through the murk the easterly death-wind breasting. 
Through cutting swirl and spray watchful and firm ad- 
vancing, 
(That in the distance! is that a wreck? is the red signal 

flaring?) 
Slush and sand of the beach tireless till dayhght wending, 10 

1 Reprinted by permission of Small, Maynard, & Co. 

4. This vague line apparently means that waves, air, and midnight are 
lashing themselves together in the savagest possible trinity. Possibly it 
means that the midnight air is lashing the waves into spray; but it doesn't 
succeed in saying so. 



128 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Steadily, slowly, through hoarse roar never remitting. 
Along the midnight edge by those milk-white combs careering, 
A group of dim, weird forms, struggling, the night confronting, 
That savage trinity warily watching. 

Is the poem metrical or only rhythmical ? Read it through line by line 
for the images, which are startlingly vivid. Few poems appeal so strongly 
and wholesomely to the senses of touch and muscular exertion. Note how 
the fierce sounds come first, then a splash of white, then muscular exertion, 
then sharp sensations on the face, then a splash of red, then more muscular 
exertion, then more white, and finally a dim picture. 



AN INCIDENT OF THE FIRE AT HAMBURGH 

James Russell Lowell 

The tower of old Saint Nicholas soared upward to the skies, 
Like some huge piece of Nature's make, the growth of cen- 
turies; 
You could not deem its crowding spires a work of human art. 
They seemed to struggle Hghtward so from a sturdy living 
heart. 

Not Nature's self more freely speaks in crystal or in oak s 
Than, through the pious builder's hand, in that gray pile she 

spoke ; 
And as from acorn springs the oak, so, freely and alone. 
Sprang from his heart this hymn to God, sung in obedient 

stone. 

It seemed a wondrous freak of chance, so perfect, yet so 
rough, 

A whim of Nature crystallized slowly in granite tough ; lo 

The thick spires yearned toward the sky in quaint harmo- 
nious lines, 

And in broad sunlight basked and slept, like a grove of 
blasted pines. 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE j2q 

Never did rock or stream or tree lay claim with better right 
To all the adorning sympathies of shadow and of hght ; 
And, in that forest petrified, as forester there dwells 15 

Stout Herman, the old sacristan, sole lord of all its bells. 

Surge leaping after surge, the fire roared onward, red as 

blood, 
Till half of Hamburgh lay engulfed beneath the eddying 

flood ; 
For miles away, the fiery spray poured down its deadly rain. 
And back and forth the billows drew, and paused, and broke 

again. 20 

From square to square, with tiger leaps, still on and on it 

came ; 
The air to leeward trembled with the pantings of the flame. 
And church and palace, which even now stood whelmed but 

to the knee, 
Lift their black roofs like breakers lone amid the rushing sea. 

Up in his tower old Herman sat and watched with quiet 
look ; 25 

His soul had trusted God too long to be at last forsook : 
He could not fear, for surely God a pathway would unfold 
Through this red sea, for faithful hearts, as once he did of old. 

But scarcely can he cross himself, or on his good saint call, 
Before the sacrilegious flood o'erleaped the churchyard 

wall, 30 

And, ere a pater half was said, 'mid smoke and crackling 

glare. 
His island tower scarce juts its head above the wide despair. 

31. pater (the a like a in day), the Lord's Prayer in Latin, 
K 



j'.Q STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Upon the peril's desperate peak his heart stood up 

sublime ; 
His first thought was for God above, his next was for his 

chime ; 
" Sing now, and make your voices heard in hymns of praise," 

cried he, 35 

" As did the Israelites of old, safe-walking through the sea ! 

" Through this red sea our God hath made our pathway safe 

to shore ; 
Our promised land stands full in sight j shout now as ne'er 

before." 
And, as the tower came crashing down, the bells, in clear 

accord, 
Pealed forth the grand old German hymn — " All good souls 

praise the Lord ! " 4° 



'WARE HOLES 1 

A. CoNAN Doyle 

['Ware Holes ! is the expression used in the hunting-field to warn those 
behind against rabbit-burrows or other such dangers.] 

A sportin' death ! My word it was ! 

An' taken in a sportin' way. 
Mind you, I wasn't there to see ; 

I only tell you what they say. 

They found that day at Shillinglee, 5 

An' ran 'im down to ChilHnghurst ; 

The fox was goin' straight an' free 
For ninety minutes at a burst. 

1 From " Songs of Action," Copyright, 1898, by Doubleday & McClure Co. 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE 



131 



They 'ad a check at Ebernoe 

An' made a cast across the Down, 10 

Until they got a view 'olio 

An' chased 'im up to Kirdford town. 

From Kirdford 'e run Bramber way, 

An' took 'em over 'arf the Weald. 
If you 'ave tried the Sussex clay, 15 

You'll guess it weeded out the field. 

Until at last I don't suppose 

As 'arf a dozen, at the most. 
Came safe to where the grassland goes 

Switchbackin' southwards to the coast. 20 

Young Captain 'Eadley, 'e was there, 

And Jim the whip an' Percy Day ; 
The Purcells an' Sir Charles Adair, 

An' this 'ere gent from London way. 

For 'e 'ad gone amazin' fine, 25 

Two 'undred pounds between 'is knees ; 

Eight stone he was, an' rode at nine, 
As hght an' limber as you please. 

'E was a stranger to the 'Unt, 

There weren't a person as 'e knew there ; 30 

But 'e could ride, that London gent — 

'E sat 'is mare as if 'e grew there. 

They seed the 'ounds upon the scent. 

But found a fence across their track. 
And 'ad to fly it ; else it meant 35 

A turnin' and a 'arkin' back. 



1^2 STUDY OF LITERArURE 

'E was the foremost at the fence, 

And as 'is mare just cleared the rail 
He turned to them that rode be'ind, 

For three was at 'is very tail. 40 

" 'Ware 'oles ! " says 'e, an' with the word, 

Still sittin' easy on his mare, 
Down, down 'e went, an' down an' down. 

Into the quarry yawnin' there. 

Some say it was two 'undred foot ; 45 

The bottom lay as black as ink. 
I guess they 'ad some ugly dreams, 

Who reined their 'orses on the brink. 

'E'd only time for that one cry ; 

" 'Ware 'oles ! " says 'e, an' saves all three. 50 

There may be better deaths to die. 

But that one's good enough for me. 

For mind you, 'twas a sportin' end, 

Upon a right good sportin' day \ 
They think a deal of 'im down 'ere, 55 

That gent what came from London way. 

Sketch the character of the groom who is teUing the story. Give your 
warrant for every statement. 

ENTER PATIENT 1 

William Ernest Henley 

The morning mists still haunt the stony street ; 
• The northern summer air is shrill and cold ; 
And lo, the Hospital, gray, quiet, old, 
Where Life and Death like friendly chafferers meet. 

1 Reprinted from " Poems," by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons. 
4, Here is a striking simile. How can Life and Death be said to 
chaffer together ? 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE 133 

Thro' the loud spaciousness and draughty gloom 5 

A small strange child — so aged yet so young ! — 

Her little arm besplintered and beslung, 

Precedes me gravely to the waiting-room. 

I limp behind, my confidence all gone, 

The gray-haired soldier porter waves me on, 10 

And on I crawl, and still my spirits fail : 

A tragic meanness seems so to environ 

These corridors and stairs of stone and iron, 

Cold, naked, clean — half-workhouse and half-jail. 

5. Why does not Mr. Henley say something like loud, spacious room, 
and dratighty, gloomy place? Is it merely a desire to save words ? Did 
the child probably think of the roo7?i f 13. enviro7i usually means to sur- 
round. Here is merely meant that the air of tragic meanness is associated 
with the corridors and stairs. 



OPERATION 1 

William Ernest Henley 

You are carried in a basket. 

Like a carcase from the shambles, 

To the theatre, a cockpit, 

Where they stretch you on a table. 

Then they bid you close your eyelids, s 

And they mask you with a napkin, 

And the anaesthetic reaches 

Hot and subtle through your being. 

And you gasp and reel and shudder 

In a rushing, swaying rapture, 10 

While the voices at your elbow 

Fade — receding — fainter — farther. 

1 Reprinted from "Poems," by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons. 

2. shambles, slaughter-house. 7. ancBsthetic, a numbing drug, like 
chloroform or ether. 



134 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Lights about you shower and tumble, 
And your blood seems crystallizing — 
Edged and vibrant, yet within you 15 

Racked and hurried back and forward. 

Then the lights grow fast and furious, 

And you hear a noise of waters, 

And you wrestle, blind and dizzy, 

In an agony of effort, 20 

Till a sudden lull accepts you. 
And you sound an utter darkness . . . 
And awaken . . . with a struggle . . . 
On a hushed, attentive audience. 

15. vibrant, that is, pulsing, blood is clear enough ; edged is harder to 
understand, but it probably meant something to the patient. 

The curious thing about this powerful poem is that it deals with physical 
sensations that seem within the nerves, not produced by outside sights and 
sounds. Why do we not miss the rhyme very much ? 



IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL 
Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

EMMIE 

I 

Our doctor had call'd in another, I never had seen him 

before, 
But he sent a chill to my heart when I saw him come in at 

the door, 
Fresh from the surgery-schools of France and of other 

lands — 
Harsh red hair, big voice, big chest, big merciless hands ! 
Wonderful cures he had done, O yes, but they said too of 

him 5 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE 



135 



He was happier using the knife than in trying to save the 

limb, 
And that I can well believe, for he look'd so coarse and so 

red, 
I could think he was one of those who would break their 

jests on the dead, 
And mangle the living dog that had loved him and fawn'd 

at his knee — 
Drench'd with the hellish oorali — that ever such things 

should be ! 10 

II 

Here was a boy — I am sure that some of our children 

would die 
But for the voice of Love, and the smile, and the com- 
forting eye — 
Here was a boy in the ward, every bone seem'd out of its 

place — 
Caught in a mill and crush'd — it was all but a hopeless 

case: 
And he handled him gently enough; but his voice and his 

face were not kind, 15 

And it was but a hopeless case, he had seen it and made up 

his mind. 
And he said to me roughly, "The lad will need little more 

of your care." 
"All the more need," I told him, "to seek the Lord Jesus 

in prayer; 
They are all his children here, and I pray for them all as 

my own : " 
But he turn'd to me, "Ay, good woman, can prayer set a 

broken bone?" 20 

10. oorali, an anaesthetic drug. 



136 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Then he mutter 'd half to himself, but I know that I heard 

him say, 
"All very well — but the good Lord Jesus has had his day." 

Ill 

Had? has it come? It has only dawn'd. It will come by 

and by. 
O how could I serve in the wards if the hope of the world 

were a lie? 
How could I bear with the sights and the loathsome smells 

of disease 25 

But that He said, " Ye do it to me, when ye do it to these " ? 

IV 

So he went. And we past to this ward where the younger 

children are laid : 
Here is the cot of our orphan, our darling, our meek little 

maid; 
Empty you see just now! We have lost her who loved her 

so much — 
Patient of pain tho' as quick as a sensitive plant to the 

touch; 30 

Hers was the prettiest prattle, it often moved me to tears, 
Hers was the gratefullest heart I have found in a child of 

her years — ■ 
Nay you remember our Emmie; you used to send her the 

flowers; 
How she would smile at 'em, play with 'em, talk to 'em 

hours after hours ! 
They that can wander at will where the works of the Lord 

are reveal'd 35 

Little guess what joy can be got from a cowslip out of the 

field; 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE 



137 



Flowers to these "spirits in prison" are all they can know 

of the spring, 
They freshen and sweeten the wards like the waft of an 

Angel's wing; 
And she lay with a flower in one hand and her thin hands 

crost on her breast — 
Wan, but as pretty as heart can desire, and we thought her 

at rest, 40 

Quietly sleeping — so quiet, our doctor said, " Poor little 

dear. 
Nurse, I must do it to-morrow; she'll never live thro' it, I 

fear." 



I walk'd with our kindly old doctor as far as the head of 

the stair. 
Then I return' d to the ward; the child didn't see I was 

there. 



VI 

Never since I was nurse, had I been so grieved and so 

vext ! 45 

Emmie had heard him. Softly she call'd from her cot to 

the next, 
"He says I shall never live thro' it, O Annie, what shall I 

do?" 
Annie consider'd. " If I," said the wise little Annie, "was 

you, 
I should cry to the dear Lord Jesus to help me, for, Emmie, 

you see, 
It's all in the picture there: 'Little children should come 

tome.'" so 



138 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



(Meaning the print that you gave us, I find that it always 
can please 

Our children, the dear Lord Jesus with children about his 
knees.) 

"Yes, and I will," said Emmie, "but then if I call to the 
Lord, 

How should he know that it's me? such a lot of beds in 
the ward ! " 54 

That was a puzzle for Annie. Again she consider' d and said, 

"Emmie, you put out your arms, and you leave 'em out- 
side on the bed — 

The Lord has so much to see to ! but, Emmie, you tell it 
him plain. 

It's the little girl with her arms lying out on the coun- 
terpane." 

VII 

I had sat three nights by the child — I could not watch her 
for four — 59 

My brain had begun to reel — I felt I could do it no more. 

That was my sleeping-night, but I thought that it never 
would pass. 

There was a thunderclap once, and a clatter of hail on the 
glass, 

And there was a phantom cry that I heard as I tost about, 

The motherless bleat of a lamb in the storm and the dark- 
ness without; 

My sleep was broken besides with dreams of the dreadful 
knife 65 

And fears for our delicate Emmie who scarce would escape 
with her life; 

Then in the gray of the morning it seem'd she stood by 
me and smiled, 

And the doctor came at his hour, and we went to see to the 
child. 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE j^Q 

VIII 

He had brought his ghastly tools : we believed her asleep 
again — 

Her dear, long, lean, little arms lying out on the counter- 
pane ; 70 

Say that His day is done ! Ah ; why should we care what 
they say? 

The Lord of the children had heard her, and Emmie had 
past away. 

The stanzas are of unequal length ; does each represent a real step ? 
Has the poem plot, i.e. does it arouse suspense? If so, at what line is 
the suspense finally relieved? Is the poem simple or complex in thought ? 
Is it pathetic? Is it gloomy or serene in spirit? 



SAN LORENZO GIUSTINIANPS MOTHER 1 
Alice Meynell 

I had not seen my son's dear face 
(He chose the cloister by God's grace) 
Since it had come to full flower-time 
I hardly guessed at its perfect prime. 
That folded flower of his dear face. S 

Mine eyes were veiled by mists of tears 

When on a day in many years 

One of his Order came. I thrilled. 
Facing, I thought, that face fulfilled. 

I doubted, for my mists of tears. 10 

1 Reprinted by permission of Mr. John Lane. The author's name is 
pronounced Mennell. 

5. The folded fiower perhaps means that the son's face was quiet in its 
beauty, like a fiower folded at night. 8. Order, religious order of monks ; 
thus, the Order of St. Francis, or Franciscan order. 



140 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

His blessing be with me forever ! 

My hope and doubt were hard to sever. 

— That altered face, those holy weeds. 

I filled his wallet and kissed his beads, 
And lost his echoing feet forever. 15 

If to my son my alms were given 
I know not, and I wait for Heaven. 

He did not plead for child of mine, 

But for another Child divine, 
And unto Him it was surely given. 20 

There is One alone who cannot change; 
Dreams are we, shadows, visions strange; 

And all I give is given to One. 

I might mistake my dearest son, 
But never the Son who cannot change. 25 

13. weeds, garments of sombre hue. The Order of St. Francis wore 
rough sack- cloth, girt with a rope instead of a girdle. 14. wallet. The 
travelling friars depended on charity for their food. 22. Perhaps it would 
be well to write a paragraph for the instructor, explaining your idea of what 
Mrs. Meynell means by this line. 



BARCLAY OF URY 

John Greenleaf Whittier 

Up the streets of Aberdeen, 
By the kirk and college green, 

Rode the Laird of Ury; 
Close behind him, close beside. 
Foul of mouth and evil-eyed. 

Pressed the mob in fury. 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE 

Flouted him the drunken churl, 
Jeered at him the serving girl, 

Prompt to please her master; 
And the begging carl in, late 
Fed and clothed at Ury's gate, 

Cursed him as he passed her. 

Yet, with calm and stately mien, 
Up the streets of Aberdeen 

Came he slowly riding; 
And, to all he saw and heard 
Answering not with bitter word, 

Turning not for chiding. 

Came a troop with broadswords swinging, 
Bits and bridles sharply ringing, 

Loose and free and forward ; 
Quoth the foremost, " Ride him down ! 
Push him ! prick him ! through the town 

Drive the Quaker coward ! " 

But from out the thickening crowd 
Cried a sudden voice and loud : 

" Barclay ! Ho ! a Barclay ! " 
And the old man at his side 
Saw a comrade, battle tried, 

Scarred and sunburned darkly; 



141 



10 



15 



20 



25 



30 



Who with ready weapon bare, 
Fronting to the troopers there, 

Cried aloud : " God save us ! 
Call ye coward him who stood 
Ankle deep in Lutzen's blood, 35 

With the brave Gustavus?" 

10. carlin, a contemptuous term for a woman. 



142 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 

" Nay, I do not need thy sword, 
Comrade mine," said Ury's lord; 

" Put it up I pray thee : 
Passive to His holy will, 40 

Trust I in my Master still. 

Even though He slay me." 

" Pledges of thy love and faith, 
Proved on many a field of death, 

Not by me are needed." 45 

Marvelled much that henchman bold, 
That his laird, so stout of old. 

Now so meekly pleaded. 

"Woe's the day," he sadly said, 

With a slowly shaking head, 50 

And a look of pity; 
"Ury's honest lord reviled. 
Mock of knave and sport of child. 

In his own good city ! 

" Speak the word, and, master mine, 55 

As we charged on Tilly's line, 

And his Walloon lancers. 
Smiting through their midst we'll teach 
Civil look and decent speech 

To these boyish prancers ! " 6c 

"Marvel not, mine ancient friend, 
Like beginning, like the end : " 

Quoth the Laird of Ury, 
" Is the sinful servant more 
Than his gracious Lord who bore 65 

Bonds and stripes in Jewry? 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE 



143 



"Give me joy that in His name 
I can bear, with patient frame, 

All these vain ones offer; 
While for them He suffereth long, 70 

Shall I answer wrong with wrong. 

Scoffing with the scoffer? 

"Happier I, with loss of all. 
Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall. 

With few friends to greet me, 75 

Than when reeve and squire were seen, 
Riding out from Aberdeen, 

With bared heads, to meet me. 

"When each good wife, o'er and o'er. 

Blessed me as I passed her door; 80 

And the snooded daughter, 
Through her casement glancing down, 
Smiled on him who bore renown 

From red fields of slaughter. 

"Hard to feel the stranger's scoff, 85 

Hard the old friend's falling off, 

Hard to learn forgiving: 
But the Lord His own rewards. 
And His love with theirs accords. 

Warm and fresh and living. 90 

"Through this dark and stormy night 
Faith beholds a feeble light 

Up the blackness streaking; 
Knowing God's own time is best. 
In a patient hope I rest 95 

For the full day-breaking ! " 

76. reeve, an officer of justice. 81. snood, a head-band worn by Scottish 
maidens. 



144 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 

So the Laird of Ury said, 
Turning slow his horse's head 

Toward the Tolbooth prison, 
Where, through iron gates, he heard loo 

Poor disciples of the Word 

Preach of Christ arisen ! 

Not in vain. Confessor old. 
Unto us the tale is told 

Of thy day of trial; 105 

Every age on him, who strays 
From its broad and beaten ways, 

Pours its sevenfold vial. 

Happy he whose inward ear 

Angels comfortings can hear, no 

O'er the rabble's laughter; 
And, while Hatred's fagots burn. 
Glimpses through the smoke discern 

Of the good hereafter. 

Knowing this, that never yet 115 

Share of Truth was vainly set 

In the world's wide fallow; 
After hands shall sow the seed, 
After hands from hill and mead 

Reap the harvests yellow. 120 

Thus, with somewhat of the Seer, 
Must the moral pioneer 

From the Future borrow; 
Clothe the waste with dreams of grain. 
And, on midnight's sky of rain, 125 

Paint the golden morrow ! 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE 



145 



LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW 

ENGLAND 

Felicia Browne Hemans 

Look now abroad ! Another race has fiU'd 
Those populous borders — wide the wood recedes, 

And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are till'd ; 

The land is full of harvests and green meads. — Bryant. 

The breaking waves dash'd high 

On a stern and rock-bound coast, 
And the woods against a stormy sky 

Their giant branches toss'd; 

And the heavy night hung dark 5 

The hills and waters o'er, 
When a band of exiles moor'd their bark 

On the wild New England shore. 

Not as the conqueror comes, 

They, the true-hearted, came; 10 

Not with the roll of the stirring drums. 

And the trumpet that sings of fame; 

Not as the flying come. 

In silence and in fear; — 
They shook the depths of the desert gloom 15 

With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

Amidst the storm they sang, 

And the stars heard and the sea; 
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 

To the anthem of the free ! 20 



146 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 

The ocean eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave's foam; 
And the rocking pines of the forest roared, — 

This was their welcome home ! 

There were men with hoary hair, 25 

Amidst that pilgrim band; — 
Why had they come to wither there, 

Away from their childhood's land? 

There was woman's fearless eye, 

Lit by her deep love's truth; 30 

There was manhood's brow serenely high, 

And the fiery heart of youth. 

What sought they thus afar? 

Bright jewels of the mine? 
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? 35 

They sought a faith's pure shrine ! 

Ay, call it holy ground. 

The soil where first they trod ! 
They left unstained what there they found, — 

Freedom to worship God ! 4° 



THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMBER 

William Cullen Bryant 

Wild was the day; the wintry sea 

Moaned sadly on New England's strand, 

When first, the thoughtful and the free. 
Our fathers, trod the desert land. 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE 147 

They little thought how pure a light, 5 

With years, should gather round that day; 

How love should keep their memories bright, 
How wide a realm their sons should sway. 



Green are their bays; but greener still 

Shall round their spreading fame be wreathed, lo 
And regions, now untrod, shall thrill 

With reverence, when their names are breathed. 

Till when the sun, with softer fires, 

Looks on the vast Pacific's sleep, 
The children of the pilgrim sires 15 

This hallowed day like us shall keep. 



«A MAN MUST LIVE"i 
Charlotte Perkins Stetson 

A man must live. We justify 
Low shift and trick to treason high, 
A little vote for a little gold 
To a whole senate bought and sold, 
By that self-evident reply. 

But is it so? Pray tell me why 
Life at such cost you have to buy? 
In what religion were you told 
A man must live ? 

i Reprinted by permission of Small, Maynard, & Co. 



148 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

There are times when a man must die. 10 

Imagine, for a battle-cry, 

From soldiers, with a sword to hold, — 
From soldiers, with the flag unrolled, — 

This coward's whine, this liar's lie, — 

A man must live ! 15 



THE HERO 

Robert Nicoll 

My hero is na deck'd wi' gowd, 

He has nae glittering state; 
Renown upon a field o' blood 

In war he hasna met. 
He has nae siller in his pouch, 5 

Nae menials at his ca' ; 
The proud o' earth frae him would turn, 

And bid him stand awa'. 

His coat is hame-spun hodden-gray, 

His shoon are clouted sair, 10 

His garments, maist unhero-like, 

Are a' the waur o' wear: 
His limbs are strong — his shoulders broad, 

His hands were made to plough; 
He's rough without, but sound within; 15 

His heart is bauldly true. 

• He toils at e'en, he toils at morn. 
His wark is never through; 
A coming life o' weary toil 

Is ever in his view. 20 

I. gowd, gold. 9. hodden-gray, natural color of the wool. lo. clouted, 
patched. 



THE HEROISM OF PEACE ^AQ 

But on he trudges, keeping aye 

A stout heart to the brae, 
And proud to be an honest man 

Until his dying day. 

His hame a hame o' happiness 25 

And kindly love may be; 
And monie a nameless dwelling-place 

Like his we still may see. 
His happy altar-hearth so bright 

Is ever bleezing there; 30 

And cheerfu' faces rcund it set 

Are an unending prayer. 

The poor man in his humble hame, 

Like God, who dwells aboon, 
Makes happy hearts around him there, 35 

Sae joyfu' late and soon. 
His toil is sair, his toil is lang; 

But weary nights and days, 
Hame — happiness akin to his — 

A hunder-fauld repays. 40 

Go, mock at conquerors and kings ! 

What happiness give they? 
Go, tell the painted butterflies 

To kneel them down and pray ! 
Go, stand erect in manhood's pride, 45 

Be what a man should be. 
Then come, and to my hero bend 

Upon the grass your knee ! 

22. brae, hillside, precipice. 43-44. Is the metaphor mixed? 



ISO 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Plan of Summary. — Reviewing the chapter, (i) enumerate the 
kinds of metre, designating them by the number of accents and by the 
predominant foot. Then (2) say which poem is most noticeable for 
melody; (3) which for beauty of suggested sights; (4) which for 
pleasure of suggested sounds; (5) which for pleasure of suggested activ- 
ity; (6) which for pleasure of suggested odors or tastes; (7) which 
is most easily understood; (8) which moves the reader most deeply; 
(9) which shows most skill in character drawing; (10) which has the 
best unity; (11) which, your critical judgment tells you, is the best 
piece of work; (12) which you like the best, without regard to its 
deserved rank or its fame. 



CHAPTER IV 

THE ATHLETE 

Art admires the beauty and strength of the human body 
more than anything else in the physical creation. Greek 
sculpture, the world's one perfect art, was devoted entirely 
to this subject. To use the metaphor of a famous scholar, 
the Greek was a Narcissus, gazing enraptured at the picture 
of his own beauty that he had just discovered in the pool. 
The Greek artists did not, it is true, represent men exactly 
as they are, though the Greek race was just then at its 
physical perfection. They made the human figure less 
animal than it usually is, refining it in various ways. Their 
statues are not so true to nature as Michael Angelo's, but 
they are physically more beautiful. The so-called Venus 
of Melos is taller than most women; but it is the loveliest 
and noblest of female figures. 

The worship of beauty was a part of the Greek's religion. 
The object of his athletics was not prize-money, inter- 
collegiate renown, or the exploitation of muscular prodi- 
gies; it was the development of grace and strength, on 
the ground that these were qualities of the gods. Accord- 
ingly any particular physical gift was revered and cherished. 
Just as Homer calls attention to the especial beauty of each 
character, — the silver-footed Thetis, the snowy-armed 
Juno, the fair-cheeked Briseis, the bright-eyed Pallas, the 
graceful Paris, the yellow-haired Menelaus, — so the Gre- 
cian master of the games looked among his candidates for 
one whose strength of arm or neck or thigh might make 
him victor in one special strife. Greece was rich in pan- 



152 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



athletes, — "all-round" men, — but one secret of Greek 
athletics lay in recognizing that neither beauty nor strength 
is often symmetrically developed. Homer's men reveal 
the principles of Greek strength and beauty. Homer has 
an Achilles, unique in his union of many powers; but he 
has many heroes famous for one especial strength. Of 
the two Ajaces the first is a giant, frequently likened to a 
tower, while the second is famed for fleetness of foot. 
Even when a Homeric character is ugly or weak in one 
respect, he is beautiful or strong in another. Dolon is dis- 
torted in face, but he is the man on whose nimbleness 
Hector depends for the safety of the Trojans. This 
reminds us of the handsome Lord Byron, who, in spite of 
his deformed foot, was an expert swimmer — as, indeed, 
one might guess from his lines on that subject. 

Christians saw that the Greeks had cultivated the body 
to the detriment of the soul. In the Middle Ages, there- 
fore, the body was not honored as in pagan days. A pale 
complexion was supposed to mean that the owner had 
spent the night in fasting, and it was accordingly consid- 
ered beautiful. In our own time people have learned that, 
as Browning puts it, body helps spirit as much as spirit 
body. Nowadays the ideal is a sound mind in a sound 
body. We think no human body perfectly beautiful unless 
a gleam of kindly intelligence is in the beautiful eye, and 
no human soul wholly admirable unless it has developed 
whatever body heaven may have given it for its servant. 

The scientist Huxley, sketching the liberally educated 

man, does not forget to say that his ideal scholar "has been 

The so trained in youth that his body is the ready servant of 

Physique of j^jg ^^\\\ and does with ease and pleasure all the work that, 

a Wood- ... 

cutter, as a mechanism, it is capable of." Richard Jefferies draws 

p- 157- a picture of the wood-cutter who has enormous dead 

strength, but no physical training ; the man in whose 



THE ATHLETE 



153 



muscles is no mind. Quickness of response by muscle to 
will is one of the chief aims in athletics; no game can be 
successful without it. It is illustrated in the runner — who The Rn 
is photographed by Walt Whitman just when the will has "^'"' P* -^ 
every muscle under control. It is better illustrated in the 
football player, because this game demands weight and 
fieetness, and an electric quickness of thought. Football 
requires a very difficult thing, — the perfect control of a 
large frame. A sonnet by the late Edward Lefroy dwells A Foott 
on these merits of the individual player. He is heavy, ^^^y^^' 
but open-eyed, quick, aggressive. A second sonnet by the chiidho 
same author suggests the importance of the very same andYoi 
qualities in a team. It is team-work that wins. It is ^" 
characteristic of childish play to be hilarious and unor- 
ganized. That will not do in football; the men must take 
direction and keep their mouths shut. The beauty and 
effectiveness of organized, perfectly consonant exertion is 
shown in the late Judge Hughes's pictures of football and 
boat-racing in "Tom Brown." The working of such a 
mechanism as a well-trained team engaged in either of 
these sports is a keen satisfaction to the eye. 

Different individual mechanisms are capable of different The Gp 
things. The giant John Ridd, who is the hero of the ^^^^^' 
terrible Devonshire winter in Dr. Blackmore's novel of 
"Lorna Doone," had muscles which enabled him to tear 
gnarled branches from oak trees. The poet Bryant, on the Driven 
other hand, was a frail lad whom his father, a physician, J°"^j^^^ 
used to dip head first into a cold spring every morning to p. 166. 
prevent his dying of too big a brain. Such a poet's mus- 
cular power would never be very large; yet Bryant, by 
regular exercise for an hour before breakfast and a two-mile 
walk after breakfast, preserved himself in perfect physical 
condition till eighty. Professor Blackie, the famous Greek 
scholar, was a little man, but our astronomer Newcomb 



154 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



described him as "the liveliest little man of sixty he ever 
saw." Some suggestion of how Blackie kept himself lively 
may be had from his poem My Bath. A man who would 
habitually plash about and dash about in the foaming, 
bubbling linn, vying with the glancing trout in that cloud- 
fed fountain, would very likely remain agile. 

When we are in perfect health, the health that " snuffs 
the morning air," we are almost unconscious of our bodies. 
All we feel is the "prime vigor" that Browning celebrates 
in Saul. We simply know that the machine does what we 
want it to do, and all we ask for is exercise. Browning has 
chosen the moment in Saul's life when the king is grievously 
ill, and has sent for David to sing to him with the help of 
the harp. The whole poem is a guess at what David would 
sing under these circumstances. The youth tries every 
kind of song he knows, — that of the shepherd to his sheep, 
those which appeal to the quail, the crickets, the jerboa; 
that of the reapers, that of the funeral, that of the marriage, 
that of the priests, and, finally, that of "our manhood's 
prime vigor." With every muscle playing free, the strong 
man springs from rock up to rock, and plunges into the 
pool of living water; he hunts without fear; he eats with 
zest, and sleeps, on the ground, the sleep of the just. 

Whenever the poets have stopped to think about the ways 
in which all this glorious life goes on, they are filled with 
wonder. One sacred writer speaks in curious Oriental 
imagery of the nerve as the silver cord, and the skull as 
the golden bowl. Another calls the body the temple of 
God. The physician-poet Holmes takes this last image for 
the title of his poem on the human body, The Living 
Temple. He sings the strange mystery of the breath and 
the unresting heart; the living marble we call limbs; the 
exquisite adjustments of sight and hearing; the unsolved 
secret of brain and nerve. Tennyson has a poem in which 



THE ATHLETE 



155 



he speaks of the dead body as a house deserted by its care- 
less tenants. Edgar Poe's The Haunted Palace is a still The 
more imaginative conception. It shadows forth what hap- 
pens to the body when reason fails. There was once a stately 
palace tenanted by good angels. " Banners yellow, golden, 
glorious on its roof did float and flow." Through two lumi- 
nous windows were seen the ruler of the realm, and spirits that 
moved to music. But now all is changed. The windows are 
red-litten, and through the pale door rush hideous things that 
can laugh, — as the insane laugh, — but cannot smile. 

Physical breakdown of any organ is due to under- 
exercise, or over-exercise, or lack of proper nutrition, or 
poisoning of some sort. One of these facts was never 
learned by a poet-naturalist of our own time, Richard 
Jefferies, who is certainly the most enthusiastic writer of 
our century concerning the beauty of the human body and 
the possibilities of its improvement. His marvellous ad- 
miration of physical strength, shown everywhere in his 
autobiography, led him into dangerous excess of exercise. 
But Jefferies did not poison himself. In this respect he 
was wiser than Franklin, who exercised so little that he got Dialog 
that particular form of blood-poisoning called the gout. 5,^^^^^^: 
He was wiser, too, than Robert Louis Stevenson, dear to and tht 
all boys. The latter, like Jefferies, fought a heroic battle ^°^^' 
with disease, keeping himself alive for years after the 
doctors had told him he must soon yield to phthisis; but 
he handicapped his vital powers desperately by surcharging 
his system with nicotine. 

The last hero in this chapter is Tennyson's Sir Galahad,^ Sir Gal 

' Via H T^ 

who sums up the athletic ideal of cleanness, strength, and 

1 Galahad was one of the knights who cherished the ideal of searching 
until they found the holy cup, the grail, from which Christ drank at the last 
supper. Tennyson regarded such a search, even in fable, as a fanatic and 
useless one. He made his perfect king, Arthur, refuse to join in the quest. 
Arthur stayed at home and attended to the business of his kingdom. 



156 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

courage, with the added grace of a fine idealism. Tenny- 
son, himself a manly figure, broad-shouldered and lean- 
waisted, liked to write of the athletic ideal. His best 
friend, Hallam, he somewhere calls a Galahad, and again 
praises for being clean, but no ascetic. 

High nature amorous of the good, 

But touched with no ascetic gloom. 
And passion pure in snowy bloom 

Through all the years of April blood. 



SWIMMING 
George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron 

How many a time have I 
Cloven, with arm still lustier, breast more daring. 
The wave all roughened; with a swimmer's stroke 
Flinging the billows back from my drenched hair, 
And laughing from my lip the audacious brine, 5 

Which kissed it like a wine-cup, rising o'er 
The waves as they arose, and prouder still 
The loftier they uplifted me; and oft, 
In wantonness of spirit, plunging down 
Into their green and glassy gulfs, and making 10 

My way to shells and seaweed, all unseen 
By those above, till they waxed fearful; then 
Returning with my grasp full of such tokens 
As showed that I had searched the deep; exulting. 
With a far-dashing stroke, and drawing deep 15 

The long-suspended breath, again I spurned 
The foam which broke around me, and pursued 
My track like a sea-bird. — I was a boy then. 

The metre is iambic pentameter, or blank verse. Shakspere's plays are 
mostly in blank verse, and Milton's epic poem of Paradise Lost is in the 
same metre. 



THE ATHLETE 157 

THE PHYSIQUE OF A WOOD-CUTTER 1 
Richard Jefferies 

He was standing in the ditch leaning heavily upon 
the long handle of his axe. It was a straight stick of 
ash, roughly shaved down to some sort of semblance of 
smoothness, such as would have worked up an unprac- 
tised hand into a mass of blisters in ten minutes' usage, s 
but which glided easily through those horny palms, 
leaving no mark of friction. The continuous outdoor 
labor, the beating of innumerable storms, and the hard, 
coarse fare, had dried up all the original moisture of the 
hand, till it was rough, firm, and cracked or chapped 10 
like a piece of wood exposed to the sun and weather. 
The natural oil of the skin, which gives to the hand its 
beautiful suppleness and delicate sense of touch, was 
gone like the sap in the tree he was felling, for it was 
early in the winter. However the brow might perspire, 15 
there was no dampness on the hand, and the helve of the 
axe was scarcely harder and drier. In order, therefore, 
that the grasp might be firm, it was necessary to arti- 
ficially wet the palms, and hence that custom which so 
often disgusts lookers-on, of spitting on the hands before 20 
commencing work. This apparently gratuitous piece of 
dirtiness is in reality absolutely necessary. Men with 
hands in this state have hardly any feeling in them ; they 
find it difficult to pick up anything small, as a pin — the 
fingers fumble over it; and as for a pen, they hold it 25 
like a hammer. His chest was open to the north wind, 
which whistled through the bare branches of the tall elm 

1 Reprinted from " The Toilers of the Fields," by permission of Long- 
mans, Green, & Co. 



158 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



overhead as if they were the cordage of a ship, and came 
in sudden blasts through the gaps in the hedge, blowing 
his shirt back, and exposing the immense breadth of 3° 
bone and rough dark skin tanned to a brown-red by the 
summer sun while mowing. The neck rose from it short 
and thick like that of a bull, and the head was round, 
and covered with a crop of short grizzled hair not yet 
quite gray, but fast losing its original chestnut color. 35 
The features were fairly regular, but coarse, and the nose 
flattened. An almost worn-out old hat thrown back on 
the head showed a low, broad, wrinkled forehead. The 
eyes were small and bleared, set deep under shaggy eye- 
brows. The corduroy trousers, yellow with clay and 40 
sand, were shortened below the knee by leather straps 
like garters, so as to exhibit the whole of the clumsy 
boots, with soles like planks, and shod with iron at heel 
and tip. These boots weigh seven pounds the pair; 
and in wet weather, with clay and dirt clinging to them, 45 
must reach nearly double that. 

In spite of all the magnificent muscular development 
which this man possessed, there was nothing of the Her- 
cules about him. The grace of strength was wanting, 
the curved lines were lacking; all was gaunt, angular, 50 
and square. The chest was broad enough, but flat, a 
framework of bones hidden by a rough hairy skin; the 
breasts did not swell up like the rounded prominences 
of the antique statue. The neck, strong enough as it 
was to bear the weight of a sack of corn with ease, was 55 
too short, and too much a part, as it were, of the shoulders. 
It did not rise up like a tower, distinct in itself; and the 
muscles on it, as they moved, produced hollow cavities 
distressing to the eye. It was strength without beauty; 
a mechanical kind of power, like that of an engine, 60 
working through straight lines and sharp angles. There 



THE ATHLETE 



159 



was too much of the machine, and too little of the ani- 
mal; the lithe, easy motion of the lion or the tiger was 
not there. The impression conveyed was, that such 
strength had been gained through a course of incessant 65 
exertion of the rudest kind, unassisted by generous food 
and checked by unnatural exposure. 



THE RUNNER 1 

Walt Whitman 



On a flat road runs the well-train' d runner, 
He is lean and sinewy with muscular legs. 
He is thinly clothed, he leans forward as he runs. 
With lightly closed fists and arms partially rais'd. 



THE FOOTBALL PLAYERS 
Edward Cracroft Lefroy 

If I could paint you, friend, as you stand there, 
Guard of the goal, defensive, open-eyed, 
Watching the tortured bladder slide and glide 
Under the twinkling feet; arms bare, head bare, 
The breeze a- tremble through crow- tufts of hair; 
Red-brown in face, and ruddier having spied 
A wily foeman breaking from the side, 

1 Reprinted by permission of Small, Maynard, & Co. 

2 Reprinted by permission of Mr. John Lane. 



l6o STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Aware of him, — of all else unaware : 

If I could limn you, as you leap and fling 

Your weight against his passage, like a wall; lo 

Clutch him, and collar him, and rudely cling, 

For one brief moment till he falls — you fall: 

My sketch would have what Art can never give — 

Sinew and breath and body; it would live. 

What form of poem ? Give the rhyme-scheme. Does it differ from 
that of a preceding poem of the same number of lines ? Does Mr. Lefroy 
divide his poem into two thought divisions, as did Mr. Watts-Dunton ? 



CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH i 

a contrast 

Edward Cracroft Lefroy 

I love to watch a rout of merry boys 

Released from school for play, and nothing loth 

To make amends for late incurious sloth 

By wild activity and strident noise; 

But more to mark the lads of larger growth 

Move fieldward with such perfect equipoise, 

As if constricted by an inward oath 

To scorn the younger age and clamorous joys; 

Prepared no less for pastime all their own, 

A silent strenuous game of hand and knee. 

Where no man speaks, but a round ball is thrown 

And kicked and run upon with solemn glee, 

And every struggle takes an earnest tone. 

And rudest sport a sober dignity. 

1 Reprinted by permission of Mr. John Lane. 



THE ATHLETE l6l 

CHAPTERS FROM " LORNA DOONE"i 
R. D. Blackmore 

THE GREAT WINTER 

It must have snowed most wonderfully to have made 
that depth of covering in about eight hours. For one of 
Master Stickles' men, who had been out all the night, 
said that no snow began to fall until nearly midnight. 
And there it was, blocking up the doors, stopping the 5 
ways and the watercourses, and making it very much 
worse to walk than in a saw-pit newly used. However, 
we trudged along in a line; I first, and the other men 
after me; trying to keep my track, but finding legs and 
strength not up to it. Most of all, John Fry was groan- 10 
ing; certain that his time was come, and sending mes- 
sages to his wife, and blessings to his children. For all 
this time it was snowing harder than it ever had snowed 
before, so far as a man might guess at it; and the leaden 
depth of the sky came down, like a mine turned upside 15 
down on us. Not that the flakes were so very large; for 
I have seen much larger flakes in a shower of March, 
while sowing peas; but that there was no room between 
them, neither any relaxing, nor any change of direction. 

Watch, like a good and faithful dog, followed us very 20 
cheerfully, leaping out of the depth, which took him 
over his back and ears already, even in the level places; 
while in the drifts he might have sunk to any distance 
out of sight, and never found his way up again. How- 
ever, we helped him now and then, especially through 25 
the gaps and gateways; and so, after a deal of flounder- 
ing, some laughter, and a little swearing, we came all 

1 The style is in imitation of the seventeenth century. The gigantic young 
hero, John Ridd, tells the story. 
M 



1 52 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

safe to the lower meadow, where most of our flock was 
huddled. 

But behold, there was no flock at all ! None, I mean, 30 
to be seen anywhere; only at one corner of the field, by 
the eastern end, where the snow drove in, a great white 
billow, as high as a barn and as broad as a house. This 
great drift was rolling and curling beneath the violent 
blast, tufting and combing with rustling swirls, and 35 
carved (as in patterns of cornice) where the grooving 
chisel of the wind swept round. Ever and again the 
tempest snatched little whiffs from the channeled edges, 
twirled them round and made them dance over the chine 
of the monster pile, then let them lie like herring-bones, 40 
or the seams of sand where the tide has been. And all 
the while from the smothering sky, more and more fiercely 
at every blast, came the pelting, pitiless arrows, winged 
with murky white, and pointed with the barbs of frost. 

But although, for people who had no sheep, the sight 45 
was a very fine one (so far at least as the weather per- 
mitted any sight at all), yet for us, with our flock 
beneath it, this great mount had but little charm. Watch 
began to scratch at once, and to howl along the sides of 
it; he knew that his charge was buried there, and his 50 
business taken from him. But we four men set to in 
earnest, digging with all our might and main, shovelling 
away at the great white pile, and pitching it into the 
meadow. Each man made for himself a cave, scooping 
at the soft cold flux, which slid upon him at every stroke, 55 
and throwing it out behind him, in piles of castled fancy. 
At last we drove our tunnels in (for we worked indeed 
for the lives of us), and all converging toward the 
middle, held our tools and listened. 

The other men heard nothing at all; or declared that 6c 

39. chifie means spine. 



THE ATHLETE 



163 



they heard nothing, being anxious now to abandon the 
matter, because of the chill in their feet and knees. But 
I said, "Go, if you choose, all of you. I will work it 
out by myself, you pie-crusts!" and upon that they 
gripped their shovels, being more or less of English- 65 
men; and the least drop of English blood is worth the 
best of any other when it comes to lasting out. 

But before we began again, I laid my head well into 
the chamber; and there I heard a faint "ma-a-ah," 
coming through some ells of snow, like a plaintive buried 70 
hope, or a last appeal. I shouted aloud to cheer him 
up, for I knew what sheep it was — to wit, the most 
valiant of all the wethers, who had met me when I came 
home from London, and been so glad to see me. (And 
then we all fell to again, and very soon we hauled him 75 
out.) Watch took charge of him at once, with an air of 
the noblest patronage, lying on his frozen fleece, and 
licking all his face and feet, to restore his warmth to 
him. Then fighting Tom jumped up at once, and made 
a little butt at Watch, as if nothing had ever ailed him, 80 
and then set off to a shallow place, and looked for some- 
thing to nibble at. 

Further in, and close under the bank, where they had 
huddled themselves for warmth, we found all the rest of 
the poor sheep, packed as closely as if they were in a 85 
great pie. It was strange to observe how their vapor, 
and breath, and the moisture exuding from their wool, 
had scooped, as it were, a covered room for them, lined 
with a ribbing of deep yellow snow. Also the churned 
snow beneath their feet was as yellow as gamboge. Two 90 
or three of the weaklier hoggets were dead from want of 
air, and from pressure ; but more than three-score were as 
lively as ever, though cramped and stiff for a little while. 

92. hoggets, two-year-old sheep. 



1 64 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



"However shall us get 'em home?" John Fry asked, 
in great dismay, when we had cleared about a dozen of 95 
them; which we were forced to do very carefully, so as 
not to fetch the roof down. "No manner of maning to 
draive 'un, drough all they girt driftnesses." 

"You see to this place, John," I replied, as we leaned 
on our shovels a moment, and the sheep came rubbing 100 
round us. " Let no more of them out for the present; they 
are better where they be. Watch ! here, boy, keep them." 

Watch came, with his little scut of a tail cocked as 
sharp as duty ; and I set him at the narrow mouth of the 
great snow antre. All the sheep sidled away, and got 105 
closer, that the other sheep might be bitten first, as the 
foolish things imagine; whereas no good sheep-dog even 
so much as lips a sheep to turn it. 

Then of the outer sheep (all now snowed and frizzled 
like a lawyer's wig) 1 took the two finest and heaviest, no 
and with one beneath my right arm, and the other 
beneath my left, I went straight home to the upper 
sheppey, and set them inside, and fastened them. Sixty- 
and-six I took home in that way, two at a time on each 
journey; and the work grew harder and harder each 115 
time, as the drifts of the snow were deepening. No 
other man should meddle with them : I was resolved to 
try my strength against the strength of the elements; and 
try it I did, ay, and proved it. A certain fierce delight 
burned in me, as the struggle grew harder; but rather 120 
would I die than yield; and at last I finished it. People 
talk of it to this day : but none can tell what the labor 
was, who had not felt that snow and wind. 

97. No fnanner of maning is about equivalent to " I don't by any means 
intend." 98. 'tm, them, girt, a provincial expression for big, powerful. 
John Fry applies it to snowdrifts; but John Ridd himself was known as 
f"Girt Jan Ridd." 105. antre is an old word for cave. 



THE ATHLETE 



165 



Of the sheep upon the mountain, and the sheep upon 
the western farm, and the cattle on the upper barrows, 125 
scarcely one in ten was saved, do what we would for 
them. And this was not through any neglect (now that 
our wits were sharpened), but from the pure impossi- 
bility of finding them at all. That great snow never 
ceased a moment for three days and nights; and then 130 
when all the earth was filled, and the topmost hedges 
were unseen, and the trees broke down with weight 
(wherever the wind had not lightened them), a brilliant 
sun broke forth and showed the loss of all our customs. 

All our house was quite snowed up, except where we 135 
had purged a way by dint of constant shovellings. The 
kitchen was as dark, and darker, than the cider-cellar, 
and long lines of furrowed scollops ran even up to the 
chimney-stacks. Several windows fell right inward, 
through the weight of the snow against them; and the 140 
few that stood bulged in, and bent like an old bruised 
lantern. We were obliged to cook by candle-light; we . 
were forced to read by candle-light; as for baking we 
could not do it, because the oven was too chill ; and a load 
of fagots only brought a little wet down the sides of it. 145 

For when the sun burst forth at last upon the world of 
white, what he brought was neither warmth, nor cheer, 
nor hope of softening; only a clearer shaft of cold, 
from the violent depths of sky. Long-drawn alleys of 
white haze seemed to lead toward him, yet such as 150 
he could not come down, with any warmth remaining. 
Broad white curtains of the frost-fog looped around the 
lower sky, on the verge of hill and valley, and above the 
laden trees. Only round the sun himself, and the spot 
of heaven he claimed, clustered a bright purple-blue, 155 
clear, and calm, and deep. 

134, customs here means profits. 



1 56 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

That night such a frost ensued as we had never 
dreamed of, neither read in ancient books, nor histories 
of Frobisher. The kettle by the fire froze, and the 
crock upon the hearth-cheeks; many men were killed, 
and cattle rigid in their head-ropes. Then I heard that i6o 
fearful sound which never I had heard before, neither 
since have heard (except during that same winter), the 
sharp yet solemn sound of trees burst open by the frost- 
blow. Our great walnut lost three branches, and has 
been dying ever since; though growing meanwhile, as 165 
the soul does. And the ancient oak at the cross was 
rent, and many score of ash trees. But why should I 
tell all this? The people who have not seen it (as I 
have) will only make faces, and disbelieve, till such 
another frost comes, which perhaps may never be. ... 170 

DRIVEN BEYOND ENDURANCE 

Everything was settled smoothly, and without any fear 
or fuss that Lorna might find end of troubles, and myself 
of eager waiting, with the help of Parson Bowden, and 
the good wishes of two counties. I could scarce believe 
my fortune when I looked upon her beauty, gentleness, 5 
and sweetness, mingled with enough of humor, and warm 
woman's feeling, never to be dull or tiring; never them- 
selves to be weary. 

For she might be called a woman now, although a very 
young one, and as full of playful ways, or perhaps I 10 
may say ten times as full, as if she had known no trouble : 
to wit, the spirit of bright childhood, having been so 
curbed and straightened ere its time was over, now broke 
forth, enriched and varied with the garb of conscious 
maidenhood. And the sense of steadfast love, and eager 15 
love enfolding her, colored with so many tinges all her 



THE ATHLETE 



167 



looks, and words, and thoughts, that to me it was the 
noblest vision even to think about her. 

But this was far too bright to last, without bitter break, 
and the plunging of happiness in horror, and of passion- 20 
ate joy in agony. My darling, in her softest moments, 
when she was alone with me, when the spark of defiant 
eyes was veiled beneath dark lashes, and the challenge 
of gay beauty passed into sweetest invitation; at such 
times of her purest love and warmest faith in me, a deep 25 
abiding fear would flutter in her bounding heart, as of 
deadly fate's approach. She would cling to me, and 
nestle to me, being scared of coyishness, and lay one 
arm around my neck, and ask if I could do without her. 

Hence, as all emotions haply, of those who are more 30 
to us than ourselves, find within us stronger echo, and 
more perfect answer, so I could not be regardless of some 
hidden evil, and my dark misgivings deepened as the 
time drew nearer. I kept a steadfast watch on Lorna, 
neglecting a field of beans entirely, as well as a litter 35 
of young pigs, and a cow somewhat given to jaundice. 
And I let Jem Slocome go to sleep in the tallat all one 
afternoon and Bill Dadds draw off a bucket of cider, 
without so much as a "by your leave." For these men 
knew that my knighthood, and my coat of arms, and 40 
(most of all) my love, were greatly against good farm- 
ing: the sense of our country being — and perhaps it 
may be sensible — that a man who sticks up to be any- 
thing must allow himself to be cheated. 

But I never did stick up, nor would, though all the 45 
parish bade me; and I whistled the same tunes to my 
horses, and held my plough-tree just the same as if no 
King nor Queen had ever come to spoil my tune or hand. 
For this thing nearly all the men around our parts up- 

37. tallat, hayloft. 



1 58 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

braided me, but the women praised me; and for the most 5° 
part these are right, when themselves are not concerned. 

However humble I might be, no one knowing any- 
thing of our part of the country would for a moment 
doubt that now here was a great to-do and talk of John 
Ridd and his wedding. The fierce fight with the 55 
Doones so lately, and my leading of the combat (though 
I fought not more than need be), and the vanishing of Sir 
Counsellor, and the galloping madness of Carver, and 
the religious fear of the women that this last was gone 
to hell — for he himself had declared that his aim, while 60 
he cut through the yeomanry — also their remorse that 
he should have been made to go thither, with all his 
children left behind — these things, I say (if ever I can 
again contrive to say anything), had led to the broadest 
excitement about my wedding of Lorna. We heard that 65 
people meant to come from more than thirty miles 
around, upon excuse of seeing my stature and Lorna' s 
beauty; but in good truth, out of sheer curiosity and 
the love of meddling. 

Our clerk had given notice that not a man should 70 
come inside the door of his church without shilling-fee, 
and women (as sure to see twice as much) must every 
one pay two shillings. I thought this wrong; and, as 
church-warden, begged that the money might be paid 
into mine own hands when taken. But the clerk said 75 
that was against all law; and he had orders from the 
parson to pay it to him without any delay. So, as I 
always obey the parson when I care not much about a 
thing, I let them have it their own way, though feeling 
inclined to believe sometimes that I ought to have some 80 
of the money. 

Dear mother arranged all the ins and outs of the way 
in which it was to be done; and Annie and Lizzie, and 



THE ATHLETE 



169 



all the Snowes, and even Ruth Huckaback (who was 
there, after great persuasion), made such a sweeping of 85 
dresses that I scarcely knew where to place my feet, and 
longed for a staff to put by their gowns. Then Lorna 
came out of a pew halfway, in a manner which quite 
astonished me, and took my left hand in her right, and 
I prayed God that it were done with. 90 

My darling looked so glorious that I was afraid of 
glancing at her, yet took in all her beauty. She was in 
a fright, no doubt, but nobody should see it; whereas I 
said (to myself, at least), "I will go through it like a 
grave-digger." 95 

Lorna' s dress was of pure white, clouded with faint 
lavender (for the sake of the old Earl Brandir), and as 
simple as need be, except for perfect loveliness. I was 
afraid to look at her, as I said before, except when each 
of us said, " I will " ; and then each dwelt upon the other. 100 

It is impossible for any who have not loved as I have 
to conceive my joy and pride when, after ring and all 
was done, and the parson had blessed us, Lorna turned 
to look at me with her glances of subtle fun subdued by 
this great act. 105 

Her eyes, which none on earth may ever equal or 
compare with, told me such a depth of comfort, yet 
awaiting further commune, that I was almost amazed, 
thoroughly as I knew them. Darling eyes, the sweetest 
eyes, the loveliest, the most loving eyes — the sound of no 
a shot rang through the church, and those eyes were 
filled with death. 

Lorna fell across my knees when I was going to kiss 
her, as the bridegroom is allowed to do, and encouraged, 
if he needs it; a flood of blood came out upon the 115 
yellow wood of the altar steps; and at my feet lay Lorna, 
trying to tell me some last message out of her faithful 



I/O 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



eyes. I lifted her up, and petted her, and coaxed her, 
but it was no good; the only sign of life remaining was 
a spirit of bright red blood. 120 

Some men know what things befall them in the 
supreme time of their life — far above the time of death 
— but to me comes back as a hazy dream, without any 
knowledge in it, what I did, or felt, or thought, with my 
wife's arms flagging, flagging, around my neck, as I 125 
raised her up, and softly put them there. She sighed a 
long sigh on my breast, for her last farewell to life, and 
then she grew so cold, and cold, that I asked the time 
of year. 

It was now Whit-Tuesday, and the lilacs all in bios- 130 
som; and why I thought of the time of year, with the 
young death in my arms, God or His angels may decide, 
having so strangely given us. Enough that so I did, 
and looked; and our white lilacs were beautiful. Then 
I laid my wife in my mother's arms, and begging that 135 
no one would make any noise, went forth for my revenge. 

Of course I knew who had done it. There was but 
one man in the world, or, at any rate, in our part of it, 
who could have done such a thing — such a thing. I 
use no harsher word about it, while I leaped upon our 140 
best horse, with bridle but no saddle, and set the head 
of Kickums toward the course now pointed out to me. 
Who showed me the course, I cannot tell. I only knew 
that I took it. And the men fell back before me. 

Weapon of no sort had I. Unarmed, and wondering 145 
at my strange attire (with a bridal vest wrought by our 
Annie, and red with the blood of the bride), I went 
forth just to find out this — whether in this world there 
be or be not God of justice. 

With my vicious horse at a furious speed, I came upon 150 

120. spirit, spirt. 



THE ATHLETE I^I 

Black Barrow Down, directed by some shout of men, 
which seemed to me but a whisper. And there about a 
furlong before me, rode a man on a great black horse, 
and I knew that the man was Carver Doone. 

"Your life, or mine," I said to myself; "as the will 155 
of God may be. But we two live not upon this earth 
one more hour together." 

I knew the strength of this great man; and I knew 
that he was armed with a gun — if he had time to load 
again, after shooting my Lorna — or at any rate with 160 
pistols, and a horseman's sword as well. Nevertheless, 
I had no more doubt of killing the man before me than 
a cook has of spitting a headless fowl. 

Sometimes seeing no ground beneath me, and some- 
times heeding every leaf, and the crossing of the grass- 165 
blades, I followed over the long moor, reckless whether 
seen or not. But only once the other man turned round 
and looked back again, and then I was beside a rock, 
with a reedy swamp behind me. 

Although he was so far before me, and riding as hard 170 
as ride he might, I saw that he had something on the 
horse in front of him; something which needed care, 
and stopped him from looking backward. In the whirl- 
ing of my wits, I fancied first that this was Lorna; until 
the scene I had been through fell across hot brain and 175 
heart, like the drop at the close of a tragedy. Rushing 
there through crag and quag at utmost speed of a mad- 
dened horse, I saw, as of another's fate, calmly (as on 
canvas laid), the brutal deed, the piteous anguish, and 
the cold despair. 180 

The man turned up the gully leading from the moor to 
Cloven Rocks, through which John Fry had tracked 
Uncle Ben, as of old related. But as Carver entered 
it, he turned round, and beheld me not a hundred yards 



1/2 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



behind; and I saw that he was bearing his child, little 185 
Ensie, before him. Ensie also descried me, and 
stretched his hands and cried to me; for the face of 
his father frightened him. 

Carver Doone, with a vile oath, thrust spurs into his 
flagging horse, and laid one hand on a pistol-stock, 190 
whence I knew that his slung carbine had received no 
bullet since the one that had pierced Lorna. And a cry 
of triumph rose from the black depths of my heart. 
What cared I for pistols? I had no spurs, neither was 
my horse one to need the rowel; I rather held him in 195 
than urged him, for he was fresh as ever; and I knew that 
the black steed in front, if he breasted the steep ascent, 
where the track divided, must be in our reach at once. 

His rider knew this, and, having no room in the 
rocky channel to turn and fire, drew rein at the cross- 200 
ways sharply, and plunged into the black ravine leading 
to the Wizard's Slough. "Is it so?" I said to myself, 
with brain and head cold as iron : " though the foul fiend 
come from the slough to save thee, thou shalt carve it, 
Carver." 205 

I followed my enemy carefully, steadily, even lei- 
surely; for I had him as in a pitfall, where no escape 
might be. He thought that I feared to approach him, 
for he knew not where he was: and his- low disdainful 
laugh came back. "Laugh he who wins," thought I. 210 

A gnarled and half-starved oak, as stubborn as my 
own resolve, and smitten by some storm of old, hung 
from the crag above me. Rising from my horse's back, 
although I had no stirrups, I caught a limb, and tore it 
(like a mere wheat-awn) from the socket. Men show 215 
the rent even now with wonder; none with more wonder 
than myself. 

Carver Doone turned the corner suddenly on the black 



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173 



and bottomless bog; with a start of fear he reigned back 
his horse, and I thought he would have turned upon me. 220 
But instead of that, he again rode on, hoping to find a 
way round the side. 

Now there is a way between cliff and slough for those 
who know the ground thoroughly, or have time enough 
to search it; but for him there was no road, and he lost 225 
some time in seeking it. Upon this he made up his 
mind; and wheeling, fired, and then rode at me. 

His bullet struck me somewhere, but I took no heed 
of that. Fearing only his escape, I laid my horse 
across the way, and with the limb of the oak struck full 230 
on the forehead his charging steed. Ere the slash of 
the sword came nigh me, man and horse rolled over, 
and well-nigh bore my own horse down with the power 
of their onset. 

Carver Doone was somewhat stunned, and could not 235 
arise for a moment. Meanwhile I leaped on the ground 
and awaited, smoothing my hair back, and baring my 
arms, as though in the ring for wrestling. Then the 
little boy ran to me, clasped my leg, and looked up at 
me; and the terror in his eyes made me almost fear 240 
myself. 

"Ensie, dear," I said quite gently, grieving that he 
should see his wicked father killed, "run up yonder 
round the corner, and try to find a pretty bunch of blue- 
bells for the lady." The child obeyed me, hanging 245 
back, and looking back, and then laughing, while I pre- 
pared for business. There and then I might have killed 
mine enemy with a single blow while he lay unconscious, 
but it would have been foul play. 

With a sullen and black scowl, the Carver gathered 250 
his mighty limbs and arose, and looked round for his 
weapons; but I had put them well away. Then he 



174 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



came to me and gazed, being wont to frighten thus 
young men. 

"I would not harm you, lad," he said, with a lofty 255 
style of sneering. " 1 have punished you enough, for 
most of your impertinence. For the rest I forgive you, 
because you have been good and gracious to my little 
son. Go and be contented." 

For answer I smote him on the cheek, lightly, and 260 
not to hurt him, but to make his blood leap up. I 
would not sully my tongue by speaking to a man like 
this. 

There was a level space of sward between us and the 
slough. With the courtesy derived from London, and 265 
the processions I had seen, to this place I led him. 
And that he might breathe himself, and have every fibre 
cool, and every muscle ready, my hold upon his coat I 
loosed, and left him to begin with me whenever he 
thought proper. 270 

I think he felt that his time was come. I think that 
he knew from my knitted muscles, and the firm arch of 
my breast, and the way in which I stood, but most of 
all from my stern blue eyes, that he had found his mas- 
ter. At any rate a paleness came, an ashy paleness on 275 
his cheeks, and the vast calves of his legs bowed in as 
if he was out of training. 

Seeing this, villain as he was, I offered him first 
chance. I stretched forth my left hand, as I do to a 
weaker antagonist, and I let him have the hug of me. 280 
But in this I was too generous; having forgotten my 
pistol-wound, and the cracking of one of my short lower 
ribs. Carver Doone caught me round the waist with such 
a grip as never yet had been laid upon me. 

I heard my rib go; I grasped his arm, and tore the 285 
muscle out of it (as the string comes out of an orange); 



THE ATHLETE 



175 



then I took him by the throat, which is not allowed in 
wrestling, but he had snatched at mine; and now was 
no time of dalliance. In vain he tugged, and strained, 
and writhed, dashed his bleeding fist into my face, and 290 
flung himself on me with gnashing jaws. Beneath the 
iron of my strength — for God that day was with me — 
I had him helpless in two minutes, and his fiery eyes 
lolled out. 

"I will not harm thee any more," I cried, so far as I 295 
could for panting, the work being very furious. "Car- 
ver Doone, thou art beaten; own it, and thank God for 
it; and go thy way, and repent thyself." 

It was all too late. Even if he had yielded in his 
ravening frenzy — for his beard was like a mad dog's 300 
jowl — even if he would have owned that, for the first 
time in his life, he had found his master; it was all too 
late. 

The black bog had him by the feet; the sucking of 
the ground drew on him, like the thirsty lips of death. 30S 
In our fury, we had heeded neither wet nor dry; nor 
thought of earth beneath us. I myself might scarcely 
leap, with the last spring of o'erlabored legs, from the 
ingulfing grave of slime. He fell back, with his swarthy 
breast (from which my gripe had tore all clothing), like 31° 
a hummock of bog-oak, standing out the quagmire; and 
then he tossed his arms to heaven, and they were black 
to the elbow, and the glare of his eyes was ghastly. I 
could only gaze and pant; for my strength was no more 
than an infant's, from the fury and the horror. Scarcely 3^5 
could I turn away, while, joint by joint, he sunk from 
sight. 



1/6 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 

MY BATH 

John Stuart Blackie 

{^Scene : Kinnaird Burn, near Pitlochrie) 

Come here, good people great and small, that wander far 

abroad, 
To drink of drumly German wells, and make a weary road 
To Baden and to Wiesbaden, and how they all are nam'd. 
To Carlsbad and to Kissingen, for healing virtue fam'd; 
Come stay at home, and keep your feet from dusty travel 

free, 5 

And I will show you what rare bath a good God gave to 

me ; 
'Tis hid among the Highland hills beneath the purple brae. 
With cooling freshness free to all, nor doctor's fee to pay. 

No craft of mason made it here, nor carpenter, I wot; 
Nor tinkering fool with hammering tool to shape the 

charmed spot ; lo 

But down the rocky-breasted glen the foamy torrent falls 
Into the amber caldron deep, fenced round with granite 

walls. 

Nor gilded beam, nor pictur'd dome, nor curtain, roofs it in, 
But the blue sky rests, and white clouds float, above the 

bubbling linn. 
Where God's own hand hath scoop'd it out in Nature's 

Titan hall, 15 

And from her cloud-fed fountains drew its waters free to all. 

2. drumly, Scotch for muddy. 3. and how they all are nam'd is a 
Gernrian idiom equivalent to " all of them, however named." 14. linn, a 
pool. The " colony by the pool " is the sense of Linn-colonla, shortened 
into Lincoln. 



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177 



Oh come and see my Highland bath, and prove its freshen- 
ing flood, 
And spare to taint your skin with swathes of drumly Ger- 
man mud : 
Come plunge with me into the wave like liquid topaz fair, 
And to the waters give your back that spout down bravely 
there ; 20 

Then float upon the swirling flood, and, like a glancing 

trout. 
Plash about, and dash about, and make a lively rout. 
And to the gracious sun display the glory of your skin, 
As you dash about and splash about in the foamy-bubbling 
Hnn. 

Oh come and prove my bonnie bath ; in sooth 'tis furnish'd 

well 25 

With trees, and shrubs, and spreading ferns, all in the rocky 

dell. 
And roses hanging from the cliff in grace of white and red. 
And little tiny birches nodding lightly overhead, 
And spiry larch with purple cones, and tips of virgin green. 
And leafy shade of hazel copse with sunny glints between : 
Oh might the Roman wight be here who praised Bandusia's 
well, 31 

He'd find a bath to Nymphs more dear in my sweet High- 
land dell. 

Some folks will pile proud palaces, and some will wander 

far 
To scan the blinding of a sun, or the bhnking of a star ; 
Some sweat through Afric's burning sands ; and some will 

vex their soul 35 

To find heaven knows what firosty prize beneath the Arctic 

pole. 



178 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



God bless them all ; and may they find what thing delights 

them well 
In east or west, or north or south, — but I at home will dwell 
Where fragrant ferns their fronds uncurl, and healthful 

breezes play, 39 

And clear brown waters grandly swirl beneath the purple brae. 

Oh come and prove my Highland bath, the burn, and all 

the glen, 
Hard-toiling wights in dingy nooks, and scribes with inky pen, 
Strange thoughtful men with curious quests that vex your 

fretful brains, 
And scheming sons of trade who fear to count your slippery 

gains ; 
Come wander up the burn with me, and thread the winding 

glen, 45 

And breathe the healthful power that flows down from the 

breezy Ben, 
And plunge you in the deep brown pool ; and from beneath 

the spray 
You'll come forth like a flower that blooms 'neath freshen- 
ing showers in May ! 

41. burn, a brook. 42. wights, mortals. 46. Ben is a Celtic word for 
mountain. 

Name the metre according to the number of accents. Is it trochaic 
or iambic? Is the movement solemn or cheerful? What is the rhyme- 
scheme ? What colors are attributed to the pool of mountain water ? 



OH, OUR MANHOOD'S PRIME VIGOR 
Robert Browning 

Oh, our manhood's prime vigor ! No spirit feels waste. 
Not a muscle is stopped in its playing nor sinew mibraced. 
Oh, the wild joys of living ! the leaping from rock up to rock 



THE ATHLETE 



179 



The strong rending of boughs from the fir tree, the cool 

silver shock 
Of the plunge in a pool's living water, the hunt of the 

bear, 5 

And the sultriness showing the lion is couched in his lair. 
And the meal, the rich dates yellowed over with gold dust 

divine. 
And the locust-flesh steeped in the pitcher, the full draught 

of wine. 
And the sleep in the dried river-channel where bulrushes 

tell 
That the water was wont to go warbling so softly and well. 10 
How good is man's life, the mere living ! how fit to employ 
All the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy ! 



THE HAUNTED PALACE 
Edgar Allan Poe 

In the greenest of our valleys, 

By good angels tenanted. 
Once a fair and stately palace 

(Radiant palace) reared its head. 
In the monarch Thought's dominion s 

It stood there ! 
Never seraph spread a pinion 

Over fabric half so fair. 

Banners yellow, glorious, golden, 

On its roof did float and flow xo 

(This, all this, was in the olden 

Time long ago) ; 



l80 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

And every gentle air that dallied 

In that sweet day, 
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, 15 

A winged odor went away. 

Wanderers in that happy valley 

Through two luminous windows saw 
Spirits moving musically, 

To a lute's well-tuned law, 20 

Round about a throne, where, sitting 

(Porphyrogene !) 
In state his glory well befitting, 

The ruler of the realm was seen. 

And all with pearl and ruby glowing 25 

Was the fair palace door, 
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing, 

And sparkling evermore, 
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty 

Was but to sing, 30 

In voices of surpassing beauty, 

The wit and wisdom of their king. 

But evil things, in robes of sorrow, 

Assailed the monarch's high estate 
(Ah ! let us mourn, for never morrow 35 

Shall dawn upon him desolate) ; 
And round about his home the glory 

That blushed and bloomed 
Is but a dim-remembered story 

Of the old time entombed. 4° 

And travellers now within that valley 

Through the red-litten windows see 

22. Porphyrogene means born to the purple, i.e. to royalty. 



THE ATHLETE 



I8l 



Vast forms that move fantastically 

To a discordant melody, 
While, like a ghastly, rapid river, 45 

Through the pale door 
A hideous throng rush out forever, 

And laugh — but smile no more. 

What two lines of the poem are the most melodious ? 

Explain the allegory stanza by stanza, but do not be surprised if every 
detail {e.g. the lute) is not clear ; Poe perhaps intended a little beautiful 
vagueness now and then. 



DIALOGUE BETWEEN FRANKLIN AND THE 

GOUT 

Benjamin Franklin 

Midnight, October 22, 1780. 

Franklin. Eh ! oh ! eh ! What have I done to merit 
these cruel sufferings? 

Gout. Many things : you have ate and drank too 
freely, and too much indulged those legs of yours in 
their indolence. 5 

Franklin. Who is it that accuses me? 
. Gout. It is I, even I, the Gout. 

Franklin. What ! my enemy in person? 

Gout. No, not your enemy. 

Franklin. I repeat it : my enemy ; for you would not 10 
only torment my body to death, but ruin my good name; 
you reproach me as a glutton and a tippler ; now all the 
world, that knows me, will allow that I am neither the one 
nor the other. 

Gout. The world may think as it pleases ; it is always 15 
very complaisant to itself, and sometimes to its friends ; 



jg2 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

but I very well know that the quantity of meat and drink 
proper for a man who takes a reasonable degree of exer- 
cise, would be too much for another who never takes any. 

Franklin. I take — eh ! oh ! — as much exercise — 20 
eh ! — as I can, Madam Gout. You know my sedentary 
state, and on that account, it would seem. Madam Gout, 
as if you might spare me a Httle, seeing it is not altogether 
my own fault. 

Gout. Not a jot ; your rhetoric and your pohteness 25 
are thrown away; your apology avails nothing. If your 
situation in life is a sedentary one, your amusements, 
your recreations, at least, should be active. You ought 
to walk or ride, or if the weather prevents that, play at 
billiards. But let us examine your course of life. While 30 
the mornings are long, and you have leisure to go abroad, 
what do you do? Why, instead of gaining an appetite 
for breakfast by salutary exercise, you amuse yourself with 
books, pamphlets, or newspapers, which commonly are not 
worth the reading. Yet you eat an inordinate breakfast, 35 

— four dishes of tea, with cream, and one or two buttered 
toasts, with shces of hung beef, which, I fancy, are not 
things the most easily digested. Immediately afterward 
you sit down to write at your desk, or converse with per- 
sons who apply to you on business. Thus the time passes 40 
till one, without any kind of bodily exercise. But all this 

I could pardon, in regard, as you say, to your sedentary 
condition. But what is your practice after dinner? 
Walking in the beautiful gardens of those friends with 
whom you have dined, would be the choice of a man of 45 
sense ; yours is to be fixed down to chess, where you are 
found engaged for two or three hours ! This is your per- 
petual recreation, which is the least eligible of any for a 

25. Here rhetoric is used partly in the old sense — the art of persuasion 

— and partly in the sense of fine, high-sounding language. 



THE ATHLETE 



183 



sedentary man, because, instead of accelerating the motion 
of the fluids, the rigid attention it requires helps to retard 5° 
the circulation and obstruct internal secretions. Wrapt 
in the speculations of this wretched game, you destroy 
your constitution. What can be expected from such a 
course of living, but a body replete with stagnant humors, 
ready to fall a prey to all kinds of dangerous maladies, if I, 55 
the Gout, did not occasionally bring you rehef by agitating 
those humors, and so purifying or dissipating them ? If it 
was in some nook or alley in Paris, deprived of walks, that 
you played awhile at chess after dinner, this might be 
excusable ; but the same taste prevails with you in Passy, 60 
Auteuil, Montmartre, or Savoy, — places where there are 
the finest gardens and walks, a pure air, beautiful women, 
and most agreeable and instructive conversation; all of 
which you might enjoy by frequenting the walks. But 
these are rejected for this abominable game of chess. 65 
Fie, then, Mr. Franklin ! But, amidst my instructions, I 
had almost forgot to administer my wholesome correc- 
tions ; so take that twinge, — and that ! 

Franklin. Oh ! eh ! oh ! ohhh ! As much instruction 
as you please. Madam Gout, and as many reproaches ; 70 
but pray, madam, a truce with your corrections ! 

Gout. No, sir, no : I will not abate a particle of what 
is so much for your good, — therefore — 

Franklin. Oh ! ehhh ! — It is not fair to say I take 
no exercise, when I do very often, going out to dine, and 75 
returning in my carriage. 

Gout That, of all imaginable exercises, is the most 
slight and insignificant, if you allude to the motion of a 
carriage suspended on springs. By observing the degree 
of heat obtained by different kinds of motion, we may 80 
foira an estimate of the quantity of exercise given by 
each. Thus for example, if you turn out to walk in 



jg. STUDY OF LITERATURE 

winter with cold feet, in an hour's time you will be in a glow 
all over ; ride on horseback, the same effect will scarcely 
be perceived by four hours' round trotting ; but if you 85 
loll in a carriage, such as you have mentioned, you may 
travel all day, and gladly enter the last inn to warm your 
feet by the fire. Flatter yourself then no longer, that 
half an hour's airing in your carriage deserves the name 
of exercise. Providence has appointed few to roll in 90 
carriages, while he has given to all a pair of legs, which 
are machines infinitely more commodious and service- 
able. Be grateful, then, and make a proper use of yours. 
Would you know how they forward the circulation of 
your fluids, in the very action of transporting you from 95 
place to place : observe, when you walk, that all your 
weight is alternately thrown from one leg to the other ; 
this occasions a great pressure on the vessels of the foot, 
and repels their contents ; when relieved, by the weight 
of being thrown on the other foot, the vessels of the first 100 
are allowed to replenish, and, by a return of this weight, 
this repulsion again succeeds ; thus accelerating the cir- 
culation of the blood. The heat produced in any given 
time depends on the degree of this acceleration ; the 
fluids are shaken, the humors alternated, the secretions 105 
faciHtated, and all goes well ; the cheeks are ruddy, and 
health is established. Behold your fair friend at Auteuil ; 
a lady who received from bounteous nature more really 
useful science than half a dozen such pretenders to 
philosophy as you have been able to extract from all no 
your books. When she honors you with a visit, it is 
on foot. She walks all hours of the day, and leaves 
indolence and its concomitant maladies to be endured 
by her horses. In this see at once the preservative of 
her health and personal charms. But when you go to 115 
Auteuil, you must have your carriage, though it is no 



THE ATHLETE 1 85 

further from Passy to Auteuil than from Auteuil to 
Passy. 

Franklin. Your reasonings grow very tiresome. 

Gout. I stand corrected. I will be silent and con- 120 
tinue my office ; take that, and that. 

Franklin. Oh ! ohh ! Talk on, I pray you ! 

Gout. No, no ; I have a good number of twinges 
for you to-night, and you may be sure of some more 
to-morrow. 125 

Franklin. What, with such a fever ! I shall go dis- 
tracted. Oh ! eh ! Can no one bear it for me? 

Gout. Ask that of your horses ; they have served you 
faithfully. 

Franklin. How can you so cruelly sport with my 130 
torments ? 

Gout. Sport ! I am very serious. I have here a list 
of offences against your own health distinctly written, 
and can justify every stroke inflicted on you. 

Franklin. Read it, then. 135 

Gout. It is too long a detail ; but I will briefly men- 
tion some particulars. 

Franklin. Proceed. I am all attention. 

Gout. Do you remember how often you have prom- 
ised yourself, the following morning a walk in the grove 140 
of Bologne, in the Garden de la Muette, or in your own 
garden, and have violated your promise, alleging at one 
time it was too cold, at another too warm, too windy, too 
moist, or what else you pleased ; when in truth it was too 
nothing but your inseparable love of ease ? 145 

Franklin. That, I confess, may have happened oc- 
casionally ; probably ten times in a year. 

Gout. Your confession is very far short of the truth ; 
the gross amount is one hundred and ninety-nine times. 

Franklin. Is it possible ? 150 



1 36 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Gout. So possible that it is fact ; you may rely on 
the accuracy of my statement. You know M. Brillon's 
gardens, and what fine walks they contain ; you know 
the handsome flight of an hundred steps, which lead 
from the terrace above to the lawn below. You have 155 
been in the practice of visiting this amiable family twice 
a week after dinner, and it is a maxim of your own, that 
"a man may take as much exercise in walking a mile, up 
and down stairs, as in ten on level ground." What an 
opportunity was here for you to have had exercise in 160 
both these ways ! Did you embrace it, and how often? 

Franklin. I cannot immediately answer that question. 

Gout. I will do it for you. Not once. 

Franklin. Not once? 

Gout. Even so. During the summer you went there 165 
at six o'clock. You found the charming lady with her 
lovely children and friends, eager to walk with you and 
entertain you with their agreeable conversation ; and 
what has been your choice ? Why, to sit on the terrace, 
satisfy yourself with the fine prospect, and passing your 170 
eye over the beauties of the garden below, without taking 
one step to descend and walk about in them. On the 
contrary, you call for tea and the chessboard ; and lo ! 
you are occupied in your seat till nine o'clock, and that 
besides two hours' play after dinner ; and then, instead ^75 
of walking home, which would have bestirred you a little, 
you step into your carriage. How absurd to suppose 
that all this carelessness can be reconcilable with health, 
without my interposition ! 

Franklin. I am convinced now of the justness of i8o 
Poor Richard's remark, that "Our debts and our sins 
are always greater than we think for." 

Gout. So it is. You philosophers are sages in your 
maxims, and fools in your conduct. 



THE ATHLETE 



187 



Franklin, But do you charge among my crimes that 185 
I return in a carriage from M. Brillon's? 

Gout. Certainly ; for, having been seated all the 
while, you cannot object the fatigue of the day, and can- 
not want, therefore, the relief of a carriage. 

Franklin. What, then, would you have me do with 190 
my carriage ? 

Gout. Burn it if you choose : you would at least get 
heat out of it once in this way ; or, if you dishke that 
proposal, here's another for you : observe the poor 
peasants, who work in the vineyards and grounds about 195 
the villages of Passy, Auteuil, Chaillot, etc., you may find 
every day among these deserving creatures, four or five 
old men and women, bent and perhaps crippled by weight 
of years and too long and too great labor. After a most 
fatiguing day, these people have to trudge a mile or two 200 
to their smoky huts. Order your coachman to set them 
down. This is an act that will be good for your soul ; 
and at the same time after your visit to the Brillons, if 
you return on foot that will be good for your body. 

Franklin. Ah ! how tiresome you are ! * 205 

Gout. Well, then, to my office ; it should not be for- 
gotten that I am your physician. There ! 

Franklin. Oh-h-h ! What a devil of a physician ! 

Gout. How ungrateful you are to say so ! Is it not 
I who, in the character of your physician, have saved you 210 
from the palsy, dropsy, and apoplexy ? one or other of 
which would have done for you long ago, but for me. 

Franklin. I submit, and thank you for the past, but 
entreat the discontinuance of your visits for the future ; 
for, in my mind, one had better die than be cured so 215 
dolefully. Permit me just to hint, that I have also not 
been unfriendly to you. I never feed physician or quack 
of any kind, to enter the list against you ; if then you 



1 83 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

do not leave me to my repose, it may be said you are 
ungrateful too. 220 

Gout. I can scarcely acknowledge that as an objec- 
tion. As to quacks, I despise them ; they may kill you 
indeed, but cannot injure me. And, as to regular physi- 
cians, they are at last convinced that the gout, in such 
a subject as you are, is no disease, but a remedy ; and 225 
wherefore cure a remedy ? — But to our business ; there ! 

Franklin. Oh! oh! — for Heaven's sake leave me, 
and I promise faithfully never more to play at chess, but 
to take exercise daily and live temperately. 

Gout. I know you too well. You promise fair ; but 230 
after a few months of good health you will return to your 
old habits ; your fine promises will be forgotten like the 
forms of the last year's clouds. Let us then finish the 
account, and I will go. But I leave you with an assur- 
ance of visiting you again at a proper time and place ; 235 
for my object is your good, and you are sensible now that 
I am your real friend. 



THE LYRA PRAYER 
Richard Jefferies 

One evening, when the bright white star in Lyra was 
shining almost at the zenith over me, and the deep con- 
cave was the more profound in the dusk, I formulated it 
[his soul's-desire] into three divisions. First, I desired 
that I might do or find something to exalt the soul, some- i 
thing to enable it to live its own life, a more powerful 
existence now. Secondly, I desired to be able to do 
something for the flesh, to make a discovery or perfect 

1 Reprinted from " The Story of my Heart," by permission of Long- 
mans, Green, & Co. 



THE ATHLETE 



189 



a method by which the fleshly body might enjoy more 
pleasure, longer life, and suffer less pain. Thirdly, to 10 
construct a more flexible engine with which to carry into 
execution the design of the will. I called this the Lyra 
prayer, to distinguish it from the far deeper emotion in 
which the soul was alone concerned. 

Of the three divisions, the last was of so little impor- 15 
tance that it scarcely deserved to be named in conjunc- 
tion with the others. Mechanism increases convenience 
— in no degree does it confer physical or moral perfec- 
tion. The rudimentary engines employed thousands of 
years ago in raising buildings were in that respect equal 20 
to the complicated machines of the present day. Con- 
trol of iron and steel has not altered or improved the 
bodily man. I even debated some time whether such 
a third division should be included at all. Our bodies 
are now conveyed all round the world with ease, but 25 
obtain no advantage. As they start, so they return. The 
most perfect human famihes of ancient times were almost 
stationary, as those of Greece. Perfection of form was 
found in Sparta ; how small a spot compared to those 
continents over which we are now taken so quickly ! 30 
Such perfection of form might perhaps again dwell, con- 
tented and complete in itself, on such a strip of land as 
I could see between me and the sand of the sea. Again, 
a watch keeping correct time is no guarantee that the 
bearer shall not suffer pain. The owner of the watch 35 
may be soulless, without mind-fire, a mere creature. No 
benefit to the heart or to the body accrues from the 
most accurate mechanism. Hence I debated whether 
the third division should be included. But I reflected 
that time cannot be put back on the dial, we cannot 40 
return to Sparta ; there is an existent state of things, and 
existent multitudes ; and possibly a more powerful engine, 



1 90 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



flexible to the will, might give them that freedom which 
is the one, and the one only, political or social idea I 
possess. For liberty, therefore, let it be included. 45 

For the flesh, this arm of mine, the limbs of others 
gracefully moving, let me find something that will give 
them greater perfection, that the bones may be firmer, 
somewhat larger if that would be an advantage, certainly 
stronger, that the cartilage and sinews may be more en- 50 
during, and the muscles more powerful, something after 
the manner of those ideal limbs and muscles sculptured 
of old, these in the flesh and real. That the organs of 
the body may be stronger in their action, perfect, and 
lasting. That the exterior flesh may be yet more beauti- 55 
ful ; that the shape may be finer, and the motions grace- 
ful. These are the soberest words I can find, purposely 
chosen ; for I am so rapt in the beauty of the human 
form, and so earnestly, so inexpressibly, prayerful to see 
that form perfect, that my full thought is not to be 60 
written. Unable to express it fully, I have considered it 
best to put it in the simplest manner of words. I 
believe in the human form ; let me find something, 
some method, by which that form may achieve the 
utmost beauty. Its beauty is like an arrow, which may 65 
be shot any distance according to the strength of the 
bow. So the idea expressed in the human shape is 
capable of indefinite expansion and elevation of beauty. 

Of the mind, the inner consciousness, the soul, my 
prayer desired that I might discover a mode of life for 70 
it, so that it might not only conceive of such a life for it, 
but actually enjoy it on the earth. I wished to search 
out a new and higher set of ideas on which the mind 
should work. The simile of a new book of the soul is 
the nearest to convey the meaning — a book drawn from 75 
the present and future, not the past. Instead of a set of 



THE ATHLETE jqI 

ideas based on tradition, let me give the mind a new 
thought drawn straight from the wondrous present, direct 
this very hour. Next, to furnish the soul with the means 
of executing its will, of carrying thought into action. In 80 
other words, for the soul to become a power. These 
three formed the Lyra prayer, of which the two first are 
immeasurably the more important. I beheve in the 
human being, mind and flesh, form and soul. 



SIR GALAHAD 
Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

My good blade carves the casques of men, 

My tough lance thrusteth sure, 
My strength is as the strength of ten. 

Because my heart is pure. 
The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, 5 

The hard brands shiver on the steel, 
The splinter'd spear- shafts crack and fly. 

The horse and rider reel : 
They reel, they roll in clanging lists, 

And when the tide of combat stands, 10 

Perfume and flowers fall in showers, 

That hghtly rain from ladies' hands. 

How sweet are looks that ladies bend 

On whom their favors fall ! 
For them I battle till the end, 15 

To save from shame and thrall : 
But all my heart is drawn above, 

My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine : 



192 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 

I never felt the kiss of love, 

Nor maiden's hand in mine. 20 

More bounteous aspects on me beam, 

Me mightier transports move and thrill ; 
So keep I fair thro' faith and prayer 

A virgin heart in work and will. 

When down the stormy crescent goes, 25 

A hght before me swims. 
Between dark stems the forest glows, 

I hear a noise of hymns : 
Then by some secret shrine I ride ; 

I hear a voice but none are there ; 30 

The stalls are void, the doors are wide, 

The tapers burning fair. 
Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth. 

The silver vessels sparkle clean. 
The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, 35 

And solemn chants resound between. 

Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres 

I find a magic bark ; 
I leap on board : no helmsman steers : 

I float till all is dark. 40 

A gentle sound, an awful light ! 

Three angels bear the Holy Grail : 
With folded feet, in stoles of white, 

On sleeping wings they sail. 
Ah, blessed vision ! blood of God ! 45 

My spirit beats her mortal bars. 
As down dark tides the glory slides. 

And star-like mingles with the stars. 

37. meres, lakes. 



THE ATHLETE 



193 



When on my goodly charger borne 

Thro' dreaming towns I go, 50 

The cock crows ere the Christmas morn, 

The streets are dumb with snow. 
The tempest crackles on the leads, 

And, ringing, spins from brand and mail ; 
But o'er the dark a glory spreads, 55 

And gilds the driving hail. 
I leave the plain, I climb the height ; 

No branchy thicket shelter yields ; 
But blessed forms in whistling storms 

Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields. 60 

A maiden knight — to me is given 

Such hope, I know not fear ; 
I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven 

That often meet me here. 
I muse on joy that will not cease, 65 

Pure spaces cloth'd in living beams, 
Pure lilies of eternal peace, 

Whose odors haunt my dreams ; 
And, stricken by an angel's hand, 

This mortal armor that I wear, 70 

This weight and size, this heart and eyes, 

Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air. 

The clouds are broken in the sky, 

And thro' the mountain-walls 
A rolling organ- harmony 75 

Swells up, and shakes and falls. 
Then move the trees, the copses nod, 

Wings flutter, voices hover clear : 

53. leads, the leaden plates of the roofs. 



194 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

" O just and faithful knight of God ! 

Ride on ! the prize is near." 80 

So pass I hostel, hall, and grange ; 

By bridge and ford, by park and pale, 
All-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide, 

Until I find the Holy Grail. 

The poem is a panorama, beginning with a picture of the actual jousts 
of knighthood, then proceeding with magic picture after magic picture of 
what happened to Galahad on his quest. These pictures are partly from 
the old Celtic legends of the miraculous sights that Galahad saw; but they 
are mostly the product of Tennyson's imagination. Try to tell from memory 
the successive pictures, entering into the mysterious feeling of the poem. 



Plan of Summary. — Reviewing the chapter, (i) enumerate the 
kinds of metre, designating them by the number of accents, and by the 
predominant foot. Then (2) say which poem is most noticeable for 
melody; (3) which for beauty of suggested sights; (4) which for pleas- 
ure of suggested sounds; (5) which for pleasure of suggested activity; 
(6) which for pleasure of suggested odors or tastes; (7) which is 
most easily understood; (8) which moves the reader most deeply; 
(9) which shows most skill in character drawing; (10) which has 
the best unity; (ii) which, your critical judgment tells you, is the 
best piece of work; (12) which you like the best, without regard 
to its deserved rank, or its fame. 



CHAPTER V 

THE ADVENTURER 

Boys do not need to be urged to read the Leather-Stock- 
ing Tales, in which the actors have to depend on their 
native gifts of eye and ear and limb, like that embodiment 
of self-rehance. Natty Bumppo. It is a sign of old age not 
to like a good story of pioneer life, or of shipwreck on a 
desert island. 

Some forms of adventure are best told in verse. Rhythm The Cow- 
is necessary in order to suggest the sense of freedom felt by ^"^^ P- ^98. 
a roving cow-boy. Longfellow, who was fond of travelling 
by imagination, usually chose verse rather than prose to 
express the dreamy flight his fancy took to other lands. 
He watches the red sand in the hour-glass, and gradually Sandofthe 

he sees, in his mind's eye, the wastes of Arabia, the cara- ^^^ert m 

1 1 •! • ^" Hour- 

vans, the sand-storms, and even the biblical scenes that we Glass, 

associate with the desert. Longfellow finds that the impulse P- ^°°- 

to explore the sea and the mysterious lands beyond it is of ^^e Sea* 

a poetic impulse. His poem reminds grown men of the p. 202. 

days when they fancied that everything beyond the horizon 

was strange and new, and that the very soil of foreign lands 

was magically different from our own. But chiefly it reminds 

them that the secret of the sea always remains a secret 

except to those who brave its dangers. 

Nor are the adventurers celebrated in song less brave 

than those of prose. Longfellow told in simple verse the 

story of the old Viking who discovered the North Cape. 

Such a man was surely as venturesome as Jim Hawkins in 

Treasure Island. The parrots and savages of Crusoe's 

195 



196 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

acquaintance are inconsiderable when compared with the 
creatures of the haunted isles seen by the old Irish voy- 
agers in Tennyson's Maeldune. And Pathfinder's excursions 
through the woods or the prairies were not more wonderful 
than the voyage of Ulysses beyond the sunset and the baths 
of all the western stars. 
The Voy- Tcnnyson's Maeldune is an old Irish legend of a hero 

MaeMune ^^° P^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ friends to find the slayer of his 
p. 203. father. As they approached the murderer's island home, a 

wind blew them out and away into the boundless sea. They 
came to an island where all was silence ; even the waterfall 
made no sound; then to one where all was shouting and 
uproar. They sailed on to an isle of flowers — nothing 
but flowers — then to one all fruits. Some of their number 
perished at the land of fire, and others at the magic isle 
under the sea. At the isle of bounty a magic hand fed all 
until they became slothful and quarrelsome. Then the isle 
of witches tried to coax their ship upon the rocks. After 
that they passed to the isle of the double towers, strange 
buildings that rocked against each other, one smooth, one 
sculptured. Here they insanely fell to fighting each other 
over the merits of the opposing towers, and half were slain. 
At last they came to the isle of a saint, who bade Maeldune 
remember that vengeance is the Lord's, and sent him back 
home, exhausted and awed. 
Ulysses, Tennyson's Ulysses is in the spirit of the antique, but 

P- ^"- it represents that hero as doing something not told of in the 

Odyssey. Once restored to his native Ithaca after long 
wanderings, he cannot rest, but must adventure again. He 
calls to his friends to embark once more with him, and 
sitting well in order smite the sounding furrows. He will 
sail into the uttermost west. It may be that the gulfs will 
wash him down ; it may be he will reach the happy isles 
of the dead. At all events, he is determined to strive, to 



THE ADVENTURER 



197 



seek, to find, and not to yield. The brave Norse explorer 
who built and ventured in the Fram has given a new force 
to these last words by quoting them as the expression of his 
own ambition. 

To speak of discoverers is to recall the famous finding a Meeting 
of Livingstone. It used to be said that a redskin would i" the Heart 

of Africa, 

make an appomtment, months ahead, to be at a certain tree p. 214. 
in a far-distant region at precisely such an hour, and would 
keep the appointment to the minute. But the Indian, 
achieving such a feat in a temperate cHmate, among tribes 
closely related to him in nature and speech, is less remark- 
able than young Stanley, fighting his way for months through 
unmapped tropical forests, amid the gravest dangers from 
heat, miasma, serpents, wild beasts, and wilder savages, yet 
reaching the hut he sought. Stanley himself has told the 
story with fine restraint. Every American is glad that their 
young countryman did not gush at the last moment, but 
merely said, " Dr. Livingstone, I presume." 

In one of his poems Mr. Kiphng speaks of the "out- 
trail," — the path of the adventurer. The "out-trail" calls 
to the blood of every youth, and in one form or another it 
must be obeyed. It may call neither to Africa, nor China, 
nor the plains. It may call the country lad to that worst of 
wildernesses, the city. It often summons the ambitious son 
of poverty to school, whither he thought he never could 
afford to go. To start out, with no visible means of sup- 
port, to get an education, is as adventurous as piracy. But, 
whithersoever the out-trail may call, the youth ought to 
leave home with a pang. A youth who is unqualifiedly glad 
to get away from home promises ill. Robert Louis Steven- 
son's ballad of a Christmas at Sea puts this matter in just 
the right light. A young sailor is telling of the trouble his 
ship had in putting to sea on a given Christmas Day. The 
winds seemed determined to drive the craft on the rocks. 



198 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



It so happened that all this occurred very close to the spot 
where the young sailor's father lived. The boy could see 
the homestead easily, and imagine his parents by the fireside. 

" And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me. 
Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to sea ; 
And, oh, the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way. 
To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessed Christmas Day. 

" And they heaved a mighty breath, every soul on board but me, 

As they saw her nose again pointing handsome out to sea ; 

But all that I could think of in the darkness and the cold, 

Was just that I was leaving home, and my folks were growing old." 



THE COW-BOY 

John Antrobus 

" What care I, what cares he, 

What cares the world of the life we know ! 

Little they reck of the shadowless plains, 

The shelterless mesa, the sun and the rains. 

The wild, free Hfe, as the winds that blow." 5 

With his broad sombrero, 

His worn chapparejos. 

And clinking spurs. 

Like a Centaur he speeds, 

Where the wild bull feeds ; lo 

And he laughs ha, ha ! who cares^ who cares ! 

Ruddy and brown — careless and free — 

A king in the saddle — he rides at will 

O'er the measureless range where rarely change, 

The swart gray plains so weird and strange, 15 

Treeless, and streamless, and wondrous still ! 

4. mesa, table-land. 7. chapparejos (chapparayhos) , leather breeches. 



THE ADVENTURER 



199 



With his slouch sombrero, 
His torn chapparejos, 
And cHnking spurs, 

Like a Centaur he speeds 20 

Where the wild bull feeds; 
And he laughs ha, ha ! who cares, who cares ! 

He of the towns, he of the East, 

Has only a vague dull thought of him; 

In his far-off dreams the cow-boy seems 25 

A mythical thing, a thing he deems 

A Hun or a Goth, as swart and grim ! 

With his stained sombrero, 

His rough chapparejos. 

And clinking spurs, 30 

Like a Centaur he speeds 

Where the wild bull feeds ; 
And he laughs ha, ha ! who cares, who cares ! 

Swift and strong, and ever alert, 

Yet sometimes he rests on the dreary vast ; 35 

And his thoughts, hke the thoughts of other men, 

Go back to his childhood's days again, 

And to many a loved one in the past. 

With his gay sombrero, 

His rude chapparejos, ,40 

And clinking spurs. 

He rests awhile, 

With a tear and a smile. 
Then he laughs ha, ha ! who cares, who cares ! 

'Tis over late at the ranchman's gate — 45 

He and his fellows, perhaps a score, 
Halt in a quarrel o'er night begun. 
With a ready blow and a random gun — 
There's a comrade dead, dead ! nothing more. 



200 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

With his slouched sombrero, 50 

His dark chapparejos, 
And clinking spurs, 
He dashes past 
With face o'ercast 
And growls in his throat — who cares, who cares ! ss 

The author of this poem was also a painter, and had a picture on the 
same subject. Note that the refrain has four unrhymed lines. Does this 
irregular refrain commend itself after several readings ? If so, why? Are 
there any gains in the changes in the refrain from stanza to stanza ? 



SAND OF THE DESERT IN AN HOUR-GLASS 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

A handful of red sand, from the hot clime 

Of Arab deserts brought, 
Within this glass becomes the spy of Time, 

The minister of Thought. 

How many weary centuries has it been s 

About those deserts blown ! 
How many strange vicissitudes has seen. 

How many histories known ! 

Perhaps the camels of the IshmaeHte 

Trampled and passed it o'er, 10 

When into Egypt from the patriarch's sight 
His favorite son they bore. 

Perhaps the feet of Moses, burnt and bare. 
Crushed it beneath their tread ; 

Or Pharaoh's flashing wheels into the air 15 

Scattered it as they sped ; 



THE ADVENTURER 20 1 

Or Mary, with the Christ of Nazareth 

Held close in her caress, 
Whose pilgrimage of hope and love and faith 

Illumed the wilderness ; 20 

Or anchorites beneath Engaddi's palms 

Pacing the Dead Sea beach, 
And singing slow their old Armenian psalms 

In half-articulate speech ; 

Or caravans, that from Bassora's gate 25 

With westward steps depart ; 
Or Mecca's pilgrims, confident of Fate, 

And resolute in heart ! 

These have passed over it, or may have passed ! 

Now in this crystal tower 30 

Imprisoned by some curious hand at last, 

It counts the passing hour. 

And as I gaze, these narrow walls expand ; — 

Before my dreamy eye 
Stretches the desert with its shifting sand, 35 

Its unimpeded sky. 

And borne aloft by the sustaining blast. 

This little golden thread 
Dilates into a column high and vast, 

A form of fear and dread. 4° 

And onward, and across the setting sun, 

Across the boundless plain, 
The column and its broader shadow run. 

Till thought pursues in vain. 



202 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 

The vision vanishes ! These walls again 45 

Shut out the lurid sun, 
Shut out the hot, immeasurable plain ; 

The half-hour's sand is run ! 



THE SECRET OF THE SEA 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

Ah ! what pleasant visions haunt me 

As I gaze upon the sea ! 
All the old romantic legends, 

All my dreams come back to me. 

Sails of silk and ropes of sendal, 5 

Such as gleam in ancient lore ; 
And the singing of the sailors, 

And the answer from the shore ! 

Most of all, the Spanish ballad 

Haunts me oft, and tarries long, 10 

Of the noble Count Arnaldos 

And the sailor's mystic song. 

Like the long waves on a sea-beach. 

Where the sand as silver shines. 
With a soft, monotonous cadence, 15 

Flow its unrhymed lyric lines ; — 

Telling how the Count Arnaldos, 

With his hawk upon his hand. 
Saw a fair and stately galley, 

Steering onward to the land ; — 20 

How he heard the ancient helmsman 

Chant a song so wild and clear. 
That the sailing sea-bird slowly 

Poised upon the mast to hear, 



THE ADVENTURER 



203 



Till his soul was full of longing, 25 

And he cried, with impulse strong, — 

" Helmsman ! for the love of heaven. 
Teach me, too, that wondrous song ! " 

"Wouldst thou," — so the helmsman answered, 
" Learn the secret of the sea? 30 

Only those who brave its dangers 
Comprehend its mystery ! " 

In each sail that skims the horizon, 

In each landward-blowing breeze, 
I behold that stately galley, 35 

Hear those mournful melodies j 

Till my soul is full of longing 

For the secret of the sea. 
And the heart of the great ocean 

Sends a thrilling pulse through me. 40 



THE VOYAGE OF MAELDUNE 

(founded on an IRISH LEGEND A.D. 700) 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

I 

I was the chief of the race — he had stricken my father 

dead — 
But I gather'd my fellows together, I swore I would strike 

off his head. 
Each of them look'd like a king, and was noble in birth as 

in worth. 
And each of them boasted he sprang from the oldest race 

upon earth. 4 

1. What earlier poem in the book has the same metre ? 



204 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Each was as brave in the fight as the bravest hero of song, 
And each of them liefer had died than have done one 

another a wrong. 
He lived on an isle in the ocean — we sail'd on a Friday 

morn — 
He that had slain my father the day before I was born. 

II 

And we came to the isle in the ocean, and there on the 

shore was he. 
But a sudden blast blew us out and away thro' a boundless 

sea. lo 

III 

And we came to the Silent Isle that we never had touch'd 

at before, 
Where a silent ocean always broke on a silent shore, 
And the brooks glitter'd on in the light without sound, and 

the long waterfalls 
Pour'd in a thunderless plunge to the base of the mountain 

walls, 
And the poplar and cypress unshaken by storm flourish 'd up 

beyond sight, 15 

And the pine shot aloft from the crag to an unbelievable 

height, 
And high in the heaven above it there flicker'd a songless 

lark, 
And the cock couldn't crow, and the bull couldn't low, and 

the dog couldn't bark. 
And round it we went, and thro' it, but never a murmur, a 

breath — 
It was all of it fair as life, it was all of it quiet as death, 20 

8-10. Why is this stanza so short ? i8. Is this line longer than its 
neighbors ? Note the medial rhyme. 



THE ADVENTURER 205 

And we hated the beautiful Isle, for whenever we strove to 

speak 
Our voices were thinner and fainter than any fiittermouse- 

shriek ; 
And the men that were mighty of tongue and could raise 

such a battle-cry 
That a hundred who heard it would rush on a thousand 

lances and die — 
O they to be dumb'd by the charm ! — so fluster'd with 

anger were they 25 

They almost fell on each other ; but after we sail'd away. 

IV 

And we came to the Isle of Shouting, we landed, a score of 

wild birds 
Cried from the topmost summit with human voices and 

words ; 
Once in an hour they cried, and whenever their voices 

peal'd 
The steer fell down at the plough and the harvest died 

from the field, 30 

And the men dropt dead in the valleys and half of the cattle 

went lame, 
And the roof sank in on the hearth, and the dwelling broke 

into flame ; 
And the shouting of these wild birds ran into the hearts of 

my crew, 
Till they shouted along with the shouting and seized one 

another and slew ; 
But I drew them the one from the other ; I saw that we 

could not stay, 35 

And we left the dead to the birds and we sail'd with our 

wounded away. 

22. fiittermotise, bat. 



2o6 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

V 

And we came to the Isle of Flowers : their breath met us 

out on the seas, 
For the Spring and the middle Summer sat each on the lap 

of the breeze ; 
And the red passion-flower to the cliffs, and the dark-blue 

clematis clung, 
And starr'd with a myriad blossom the long convolvulus 

hung ; 40 

And the topmost spire of the mountain was liHes in lieu of 

snow. 
And the lilies like glaciers winded down, running out below 
Thro' the fire of the tulip and poppy, the blaze of gorse, and 

the blush 
Of millions of roses that sprang without leaf or a thorn from 

the bush ; 
And the whole isle-side flashing down from the peak without 

ever a tree 45 

Swept like a torrent of gems from the sky to the blue of the 

sea ; 
And we roU'd upon capes of crocus and vaunted our kith 

and our kin. 
And we wallow'd in beds of Hlies, and chanted the triumph 

of Finn, 
Till each like a golden image was pollen'd from head to feet 
And each was as dry as a cricket, with thirst in the middle- 
day heat. - 50 
Blossom and blossom, and promise of blossom, but never a 

fruit ! 
And we hated the Flowering Isle, as we hated the isle that 

was mute, 

38. Note the accent (the correct one always) of clematis. 47. The one 
who boasts of his kin is like a promising blossom without fruit. 



THE ADVENTURER 207 

And we tore up the flowers by the milHon and flung them 

in bight and bay, 
And we left but a naked rock, and in anger we sail'd away. 



VI 

And we came to the Isle of Fruits : all round from the cliffs 

and the capes, 55 

Purple or amber, dangled a hundred fathom of grapes, 
And the warm melon lay hke a little sun on the tawny sand, 
And the fig ran up from the beach and rioted over the land. 
And the mountain arose like a jewell'd throne thro' the 

fragrant air. 
Glowing with all-color'd plums and with golden masses of 

pear, , 60 

And the crimson and scarlet of berries that flamed upon 

bine and vine. 
But in every berry and fruit was the poisonous pleasure of wine ; 
And the peak of the mountain was apples, the hugest that 

ever were seen. 
And they prest, as they grew, on each other, with hardly a 

leaflet between. 
And afl of them redder than rosiest health or than utterest 

shame, 65 

And setting, when Even descended, the very sunset aflame ; 
And we stay'd three days, and we gorged and we madden'd, 

till every one drew 
His sword on his fellow to slay him, and ever they struck 

and they slew; 
And myself, I had eaten but sparely, and fought tiU I 

sunder'd the fray. 
Then I bade them remember my father's death, and we 

sail'd away. 70 

61. b'me, slender stem of a plant. 



2o8 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

VII 

And we came to the Isle of Fire : we were lured by the 

light from afar, 
For the peak sent up one league of fire to the Northern 

Star; 
Lured by the glare and the blare, but scarcely could stand 

upright, 
For the whole isle shudder'd and shook like a man in a 

mortal affright ; 
We were giddy besides with the fruits we had gorged, and 

so crazed that at last 75 

There were some leap'd into the fire ; and away we sail'd, 

and we past 
Over that undersea isle, where the water is clearer than air : 
Down we look'd : what a garden ! O bliss, what a Paradise 

there ! 
Towers of a happier time, low down in a rainbow deep 
Silent palaces, quiet fields of eternal sleep ! 80 

And three of the gentlest and best of my people, whate'er 

I could say, 
Plunged head down in the sea, and the Paradise trembled 

away. 

VIII 

And we came to the Bounteous Isle, where the heavens lean 

low on the land, 
And ever at dawn from the cloud glitter 'd o'er us a sunbright 

hand. 
Then it open'd and dropt at the side of each man, as he rose 

from his rest, 85 

Bread enough for his need till the laborless day dipt under 

the West ; 

77. Poe's City in the Sea and Southey's Curse of Kehama, \ XVI, fur- 
nish interesting comparisons. 



THE ADVENTURER , 200 

And we wander'd about it and thro' it. O never was time 

so good ! 
x\nd we sang of the triumphs of Finn, and the boast of our 

ancient blood, 
And we gazed at the wandering wave as we sat by the gurgle 

of springs. 
And we chanted the songs of the Bards and the glories of 

fairy kings ; 90 

But at length we began to be weary, to sigh, and to stretch 

and yawn. 
Till we hated the Bounteous Isle and the sunbright hand of 

the dawn, 
For there was not an enemy near, but the whole green Isle 

was our own. 
And we took to playing at ball, and we took to throwing the 

stone. 
And we took to playing at battle, but that was a perilous 

play, 95 

For the passion of battle was in us, we slew and we sail'd 

away. 

DC 

And we past to the Isle of Witches and heard their musical 

cry — 
" Come to us, O come, come " in the stormy red of a sky 
Dashing the fires and the shadows of dawn on the beautiful 

shapes. 
For a wild witch naked as heaven stood on each of the 

loftiest capes, 100 

And a hundred ranged on the rock like white sea-birds in 

a row. 
And a hundred gamboll'd and pranced on the wrecks in the 

sand below, 

94. Anglo-Saxon poets habitually called battle the " sword-play." 
P 



210 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

And a hundred splash'd from the ledges, and bosom'd the 

burst of the spray, 
But I knew we should fall on each other, and hastily sail'd 

away. 

X 

And we came in an evil time to the Isle of the Double 

Towers, 105 

One was of smooth-cut stone, one carved all over with 

flowers. 
But an earthquake always moved in the hollows under the 

dells. 
And they shock'd on each other and butted each other with 

clashing of bells, 
And the daws flew out of the Towers and jangled and 

wrangled in vain. 
And the clash and boom of the bells rang into the heart and 

the brain. no 

Till the passion of battle was on us, and all took sides with 

the Towers, 
There were some for the clean-cut stone, there were more 

for the carven flowers. 
And the wrathful thunder of God peal'd over us all the day, 
For the one half slew the other, and after we sail'd away. 

XI 

And we came to the Isle of a Saint who had sail'd with 

St. Brendan of yore, nS 

He had lived ever since on the Isle and his winters were 

fifteen score. 
And his voice was low as from other worlds, and his eyes 

were sweet. 
And his white hair sank to his heels and his white beard fell 

to his feet, 



THE ADVENTURER 211 

And he spake to me, '' O Maeldune, let be this purpose of 

thine ! 
Remember the words of the Lord when he told us ' Ven- 
geance is mine ! ' 120 
His fathers have slain thy fathers in war or in single strife, 
Thy fathers have slain his fathers, each taken a hfe for a life, 
Thy father had slain his father, how long shall the murder 

last? 
Go back to the Isle of Finn and suffer the Past to be Past." 
And we kiss'd the fringe of his beard and we pray'd as we 
heard him pray, 125 

And the Holy man he assoil'd us, and sadly we sail'd away. 

XII 

And we came to the Isle we were blown from, and there on 

the shore was he. 
The man that had slain my father. I saw him and let 

him be. 
O weary was I of the travel, the trouble, the strife and 

the sin. 
When I landed again, with a tithe of my men, on the Isle 

of Finn. 130 

Tennyson is remarkable among poets for the number of beautiful images 
he can suggest in a line. Take the sixth stanza, for example, and read it 
several times, trying to realize all it conveys. Could any painting represent 
all that is suggested here ? 

ULYSSES 
Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

It little profits that an idle king. 
By this still hearth, among these barren crags, 
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole 
Unequal laws unto a savage race, 

I. What is the metre ? What previous example of it have we seen ? 



212 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. s 

I cannot rest from travel : I will drink 
Life to the lees : all times I have enjoy'd 
Greatly, have suffer' d greatly, both with those 
That lov'd me, and alone ; on shore, and when 
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades lo 

Vex'd the dim sea. I am become a name ; 
For always roaming with a hungry heart 
Much have I seen and known : cities of men 
And manners, climates, councils, governments, 
Myself not least, but honor'd of them all ; 15 

And drunk delight of battle with my peers, 
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. 
I am a part of all that I have met ; 
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' 
Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades 20 

For ever and for ever when I move. 
How dull it is to pause, to make an end. 
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use ! 
As tho' to breathe were life. Life pil'd on life 
Were all too little, and of one to me 25 

Little remains : but every hour is sav'd 
From that eternal silence, something more, 
A bringer of new things ; and vile it were 
For some three suns to store and hoard myself, 
And this gray spirit yearning in desire 30 

To follow knowledge like a sinking star, 
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. 
This is my son, mine own Telemachus, 

10. The Hyades are a constellation of seven stars. When they rose with 
the sun they were thought by the ancients to denote the approach of 
rain. 11. I 'am become a name, that is, have become famous. 29. suns 
here means yearly revolutions of the sun. 30. Note the compression of the 
phrase ^7'ay spirit, — transfer oi gray from gray head to spirit. An adjective 
so applied is called a transferred epithets 



THE ADVENTURER 



213 



To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle — 
Well-lov'd of me, discernmg to fulfil 35 

This labor, by slow prudence to make mild 
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees 
Subdue them to the useful and the good. 
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere 
Of common duties, decent not to fail 40 

In offices of tenderness, and pay 
Meet adoration to my household gods. 
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine. 
There lies the port j the vessel puffs her sail : 
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners, 45 

Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me — 
That ever with a frolic welcome took 
The thunder and the sunshine, and oppos'd 
Free hearts, free foreheads — you and I are old j 
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil ; 50 

Death closes all ; but something ere the end, 
Some work of noble note, may yet be done, 
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. 
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks : 
The long day wanes : the slow moon climbs : the deep 55 
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. 
Push off, and sitting well in order smite 
The sounding furrows ; for my purpose holds 
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 60 

Of all the western stars, until I die. 
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down : 
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, 
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. 
Tho' much is taken, much abides ; and tho' 65 

45. Note the compression of gloo7n ; a noun is made into a verb and 
does the work of a long phrase. 



214 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



We are not now that strength which in old days 

Mov'd earth and heaven, that which we are, we are : 

One equal temper of heroic hearts, 

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will 

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. 70 

This stately and inspiriting poem is somewhat in the Greek spirit ; it 
sounds like Homer, though less simple than Homer, Lines 43-70 are emi- 
nently worth learning by heart. 

Is the poem lyrical, expressing a personal mood of the author, or narra- 
tive ? or is it a dramatic monologue ? 



A MEETING IN THE HEART OF AFRICA 
Henry Morton Stanley 

We push on rapidly, lest the news of our coming might 
reach the people of Bunder Ujiji before we come in sight 
and are ready for them. We halt at a little brook, then 
ascend the long slope of a naked ridge, the very last of 
the myriads we have crossed. This alone prevents us 5 
from seeing the lake in all its vastness. We arrive at the 
summit, travel across and arrive at its western rim, and — 
pause, reader — the port of Ujiji is below us, embowered 
in the palms, only five hundred yards from us ! At this 
grand moment we do not think of the five hundred miles 10 
we have marched, of the hundreds of hills that we have 
ascended and descended, of the many forests we have 
traversed, of the jungles and thickets that annoyed us, 
of the fervid salt plains that blistered our feet, of the hot 
suns that scorched us, nor the dangers and difficulties, 15 
now happily surmounted. At last the sublime hour has 
arrived ! our dreams, our hopes and anticipations, are 
about to be realized ! Our hearts and feelings are with 
our eyes as we peer into the palms and try to make out in 



THE ADVENTURER 



215 



which hut or house lives the white man with the gray 20 
beard we heard about on the Malagarazi. 

" Unfurl the fxags, and load your guns ! " 

"Ay Wallah, ay Wallah, bana ! " respond the men, 
eagerly. 

"One, two, three, fire ! " 23 

A volley from nearly fifty guns roars like a salute from 
a battery of artillery ; we shall note its effect presently 
on the peaceful-looking village below. 

" Now, kirangozi, hold the white man's flag up high, 
and let the Zanzibar flag bring up the rear. And you 30 
men keep close together, and keep firing until we halt in 
the market-place, or before the white man's house. You 
have said to me often that you could smell the fish of the 
Tanganika. I can smell the fish of the Tanganika now. 
There are fish, and beer, and a long rest waiting for you. 35 
March ! " 

Before we had gone a hundred yards our repeated 
volleys had the effect desired. We had awakened Ujiji 
to the knowledge that a caravan was coming, and the 
people were witnessed rushing up in hundreds to meet 40 
us. The mere sight of the flags informed every one 
immediately that we were a caravan, but the American 
flag, borne aloft by the gigantic Asmani, whose face was 
one vast smile on this day, rather staggered them at first. 
However, many of the people who now approached us 45 
remembered the flag. They had seen it float above the 
American Consulate, and from the masthead of many a 
ship in the harbor of Zanzibar, and they were soon heard 
welcoming the beautiful flag with cries of " Bindera 
kisungu ! " — a white man's flag ! " Bindera Merikani ! " 50 
— the American flag ! 

Then we were surrounded by them — by Wajiji, AVan- 
yamwezi, Wangwana, Warundi, Waguhha, Wamanyuema, 



2i6 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

and Arabs — and were almost deafened with the shouts 
of '' Yambo, yambo, bana ! Yambo, bana ! Yambo, 55 
bana !" To all and each of my men the welcome was 
given. 

We were now about three hundred yards from the 
village of Ujiji, and the crowds are dense about me. 
Suddenly I hear a voice on my right say : — 60 

" Good morning, sir ! " 

Startled at hearing this greeting in the midst of such a 
crowd of black people, I turn sharply around in search 
of the man, and see him at my side, with the blackest of 
faces, but animated and joyous — a man dressed in a long 65 
white shirt, with a turban of American sheeting around 
his woolly head, and I ask : — 

" Who the mischief are you ? " 

"I am Susi, the servant of Dr. Livingstone," said he, 
smiling, and showing a gleaming row of teeth. 70 

"What ! Is Dr. Livingstone here?" 

"Yes, sir." 

" In this village?" 

" Yes, sir." 

"Are you sure?" 75 

" Sure, sure, sir. Why, I leave him just now." 
■ "Good morning, sir," said another voice. 

" Hallo," said I, " is this another one? " 

"Yes, sir." 

" Well, what is your name? " 80 

"My name is Chumah, sir." 

"What ! are you Chumah, the friend of Wekotani? " 

"Yes, sir." 

"And is the Doctor well? " 

" Not very well, sir." 85 

"Where has he been so long?" 

" In Manyuema." 



THE ADVENTURER 217 

" Now, you Susi, run, and tell the Doctor I am coming." 

"Yes, sir," and off he darted like a madman. 

By this time we were within two hundred yards of the 90 
village, and the multitude was getting denser, and almost 
preventing our march. Flags and streamers were out ; 
Arabs and Wangwana were pushing their way through the 
natives in order to greet us, for, according to their 
account, we belonged to them. But the great wonder of 95 
all was, " How did you come from Unyanyembe? " 

Soon Susi came running back, and asked me my name ; 
he had told the Doctor that I was coming, but the Doctor 
was too surprised to believe him, and, when the Doctor 
asked him my name, Susi was rather staggered. 100 

But, during Susi's absence, the news had been con- 
veyed to the Doctor that it was surely a white man that 
was coming, whose guns were firing and whose flag could 
be seen ; and the great Arab magnates of Ujiji — Moham- 
med bin Sali, Sayd bin Majid, Abid bin Suliman, Moham- 105 
med bin Gharib, and others — had gathered together 
before the Doctor's house, and the Doctor had come out 
from his veranda to discuss the matter and await my 
arrival. 

In the meantime the head of the expedition had halted, no 
and the kirangozi was out of the ranks, holding his flag 
aloft, and Selim said to me : " I see the Doctor, sir. Oh, 
what an old man ! He has got a white beard." And I 
— what would I not have given for a bit of friendly wil- 
derness, where, unseen, I might vent my joy in some 115 
mad freak, such as idiotically biting my hand, turning a 
somersault, or slashing at trees, in order to allay those 
exciting feelings that were well-nigh uncontrollable. My 
heart beats fast, but I must not let my face betray my 
emotions, lest it shaU detract from the dignity of a white 120 
man appearing under such extraordinary circumstances. 



2i8 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

So I did that which I thought was most dignified. I 
pushed back the crowds, and, passing from the rear, 
walked down a Hving avenue of people, until I came in 
front of the semicircle of Arabs, in the front of which 125 
stood the white man with the gray beard. As I advanced 
slowly toward him I noticed he was pale, looked wearied, 
had a gray beard, wore a bluish cap with a faded gold 
band round it, had on a red-sleeved waistcoat, and a pair 
of gray tweed trousers. I would have run to him, only 1 130 
was a coward in the presence of such a mob ; would have 
embraced him, only, he being an Englishman, I did not 
know how he would receive me ; so I did what cowardice 
and false pride suggested was the best thing; walked 
deliberately to him, took off my hat, and said : — 135 

" Dr. Livingstone, I presume ? " 

"Yes," said he, with a kind smile, lifting his cap 
slightly. 

I replace my hat on my head, and he puts on his cap, 
and we both grasp hands, and I then say aloud : — 140 

" I thank God, Doctor, I have been permitted to see 
you." 

He answered : " I feel thankful that I am here to 
welcome you." 

I turn to the Arabs, take off my hat to them in response 145 
to the saluting of "Yambos" I receive, and the Doctor 
introduces them to me by name. Then, oblivious of 
the crowds, oblivious of the men who shared with me my 
dangers, we — Livingstone and I — turn our faces toward 
his tembe. He points to the veranda, or, rather, mud 150 
platform, under the broad overhanging eaves ; he points 
to his own particular seat, which I see his age and expe- 
rience in Africa have suggested, namely, a straw mat with 
a goatskin over it, and another skin nailed against the 
wall to protect his back from contact with the cold mud. 155 



THE ADVENTURER 



219 



I protest against taking this seat, which so much more 
befits him than me, but the Doctor will not yield ; I must 
take it. 

We are seated — the Doctor and I — with our backs to 
the wall. The Arabs take seats on our left. More than a 160 
thousand natives are in our front, filling the whole square 
densely, indulging their curiosity, and discussing the fact 
of two white men meeting at Ujiji — one just come from 
Manyuema, in the west, the other from Unyanyembe, in 
the east. 165 

Conversation began. What about? I declare I have 
forgotten. Oh ! we simultaneously asked questions of 
one another, such as "How did you come here?" and 
" Where have you been all this long time ? The world 
has believed you to be dead." Yes, that was the way it 170 
began ; but whatever the Doctor informed me, and that 
which I communicated to him, I cannot correctly report, 
for I found myself gazing at him, conning the wonderful 
man at whose side I now sat in Central Africa. Every 
hair of his head and beard, every wrinkle of his face, the 175 
wanness of his features, and the slightly wearied look he 
wore, were all imparting intelligence to me ; the knowl- 
edge I craved for so much ever since I heard the words, 
'' Take what you want, but find Livingstone." What I 
saw was deeply interesting intelligence to me, and unvar- 180 
nished truth. I was listening and reading at the same 
time. What did these dumb witnesses relate to me ? 

Oh, reader, had you been at my side on this day in 
Ujiji, how eloquently could be told the nature of this 
man's work ! Had you been there but to see and hear ! 185 
His lips gave me the details ; lips that never lie. I can- 
not repeat what he said ; I was too much engrossed to 
take my note-book out and begin to stenograph his story. 
He had so much to say that he began at the end, seem- 



220 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

ingly oblivious of the fact that five or six years had to be 190 
accounted for. But his account was oozing out ; it was 
growing fast into grand proportions, into a most marvel- 
lous history of deeds. 

The Arabs rose up, with a delicacy I approved, as if 
they intuitively knew that we ought to be left to our- 195 
selves. I sent Bombay with them, to give them the news 
they also wanted so much to know about the affairs at 
Unyanyembe. Sayd bin Majid was the father of the 
gallant young man whom J saw at Masange, and who 
fought with me at Zimbizo, and who soon afterward was 200 
killed by Mirambo's Ruga-Ruga in the forest of Wilyan- 
kuru ; and, knowing that I had been there, he earnestly 
desired to hear the tale of the fight ; but they had all 
friends at Unyanyembe, and it was but natural that they 
should be anxious to hear of what concerned them. 205 

After giving orders to Bombay and Asmani for the 
provisioning of the men of the expedition, I called 
'* Kaif-Halek," or " How-do-ye-do," and introduced him 
to Dr. Livingstone as one of the soldiers in charge of 
certain goods left at Unyanyembe, whom I had com- 210 
pelled to accompany me to Ujiji, that he might deliver in 
person to his master the letter-bag he had been intrusted 
with by Dr. Kirk. This was that famous letter- bag 
marked "Nov. ist, 1870," which was now delivered 
into the Doctor's hands 365 days after it left Zanzi- 215 
bar ! How long, I wonder, had it remained at Unyan- 
yembe had I not been despatched into Central Africa in 
search of the great traveller ! 

The Doctor kept the letter-bag on his knee, then pres- 
ently opened it, looked at the letters contained there, and 220 
read one or two of his children's letters, his face, in the 
meanwhile, lighting up. 

He asked me to tell him the news. " No, Doctor," 



THE ADVENTURER 221 

said I ; "read your letters first, which I am sure you must 
be impatient to read." 225 

" Ah/' said he, " I have waited years for letters, and 
I have been taught patience. I can surely afford to wait 
a few hours longer. No, tell me the general news ; how 
is the world getting along? " 

"You probably know much already. Do you know 230 
that the Suez canal is a fact — is opened, and a regular 
trade carried on between Europe and India through it?" 

" I did not hear about the opening of it. Well, that is 
grand news ! What else? " 

Shortly I found myself enacting the part of an annual 235 
periodical to him. There was no need of exaggeration — 
of any penny-a-line news, or of any sensationalism. The 
world had witnessed and experienced much the last few 
years. The Pacific Railroad had been completed \ Grant 
had been elected President of the United States ; Egypt 240 
had been flooded with savans ; the Cretan rebellion had 
terminated ; a Spanish revolution had driven Isabella from 
the throne of Spain, and a regent had been appointed ; 
General Prim was assassinated \ a Castelar had electrified 
Europe with his advanced ideas upon the liberty of 245 
worship ; Prussia had humbled Denmark and annexed 
Schleswig-Holstein, and her armies were now around 
Paris ; the " Man of Destiny " was a prisoner at Wil- 
helmshohe ; the Queen of Fashion and the Empress of 
the French was a fugitive ; and the child born in the 250 
purpk had lost forever the imperial crown intended for 
his head ; the Napoleon dynasty was extinguished by the 
Prussians, Bismarck and Von Moltke ; and France, the 
proud empire, was humbled to the dust. 

What could a man have exaggerated of these facts? 255 
What a budget of news it was to one who had emerged 
from the depths of the primeval forests of Manyuema ! 



222 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

The reflection of the dazzhng light of civihzation was cast 
on him while Livingstone was thus listening in wonder to 
one of the most exciting pages of history ever repeated. 260 
How the puny deeds of barbarism paled before these ! 
Who could tell under what new phases of uneasy life 
Europe was laboring even then, while we, two of her 
lonely children, rehearsed the tale of her late woes and 
glories ? More worthily, perhaps, had the tongue of a 265 
lyric Demodocus recounted them ; but, in the absence 
of the poet, the newspaper correspondent performed his 
part as well and truthfully as he could. 

Not long after the Arabs had departed, a dishful of 
hot hashed- meat cakes was sent to us by Sayd bin Majid, 270 
and a curried chicken was received from Mohammed bin 
Sah, and Moeni Kheri sent a dishful of stewed goat-meat 
and rice ; and thus presents of food came in succession, 
and as fast as they were brought we set to. I had a 
healthy, stubborn digestion. The exercise I had taken 275 
had put it in prime order ; but Livingstone — he had 
been complaining that he had no appetite, that his 
stomach refused everything but a cup of tea now and 
then — he ate also, ate hke a vigorous, hungry man ; and, 
as he vied with me in demolishing the pancakes, he kept 280 
repeating, " You have brought me new life ; you have 
brought me new life." 

" Oh, by George ! " I said ; '' I have forgotten some- 
thing. Hasten, Selim, and bring that bottle ; you know 
which. And bring me the silver goblets. I brought 285 
this bottle on purpose for this event, which I hoped 
would come to pass, though often it seemed useless to 
expect it." 

Selim knew where the bottle was, and he soon returned 

266. Demodocus, a famous minstrel mentioned in Homer's Odyssey. 



THE ADVENTURER 



223 



with it — a bottle of Sillery champagne; and, handing 290 
the Doctor a silver goblet brimful of the exhilarating 
wine, and pouring a small quantity into my own, I 
said : — 

" Dr. Livingstone, to your very good health, sir." 
"And to yours," he responded. 295 

And the champagne I had treasured for this happy 
meeting was drunk with hearty good wishes to each other. 



Plan of Summary. — Reviewing the chapter, (i) enumerate the 
kinds of metre, designating them by the number of accents, and by the 
predominant foot. Then (2) say which poem is most noticeable for mel- 
ody; (3) which for beauty of suggested sights; (4) which for pleasure 
of suggested sounds; (5) which for pleasure of suggested activity; 
(6) which for pleasure of suggested odors or tastes; (7) which is 
most easily understood; (8) which moves the reader most deeply; 
(9) which shows most skill in character drawing; (10) which has the 
best unity; (ii) which, your critical judgment tells you, is the best 
piece of work; (12) which you like the best, — without regard to its 
deserved rank, or its fame. 



CHAPTER VI 

THE HEARTH 

The instinct to get away from apron-strings is very active 
in strong young natures. If it were not, there would never 
be any men, but only grown-up infants. The instinct 
spends itself in adventure, pioneering, making one's way 
in the world, and ends by producing a self-reliant head of 
a new household. The young man who learns to take care 
of himself is he who comes to care most for his old home. 
A really appreciative affection for one's parents is a sign of 
manhood, because only the grown man can appreciate his 
parents. Charles Kingsley seems to suggest this fact in The 
The " Old, " Old, Old Song^ At all events, when Kingsley prays that the 
O d Song, ^^^j^ j^^^ g^£j.gj, creeping home spent and maimed, may find 

one face there he loved when all was young, what face would 
he so probably have in mind as that of the mother? 

In war-time some parents are foolish enough to oppose 

a strong, healthy son in his wish to leave home and serve 

his country. Sons are sometimes inconsiderate enough to 

abandon parents who can ill spare them, and go to war for 

the sake of adventure and glory. If, in any case of running 

away to the war, the youth be killed, the satisfaction of 

Driving having said good-bye is then denied the survivors. If he 

Cows S^^^ back home, in spite of false rumors that he is among 

p. 230. the missing, the situation is somewhat better, as in Mrs. 

Osgood's poem. 

But an honest good-bye and an honest return make the 
best case of all. The boy whose going causes honest tears 
and whose coming causes honest joy will not miss his wel- 

224 



THE HEARTH 225 

come when he is the head of a house. His homecoming 

will be, to him and his, one of the few great pleasures that 

our checkered life has to give. Many a king never knows There's 

what such a poem as There's Nae Luck about the House ^^^ Luck, 

. P- 232. 

means to the nation that produces it. 

Few subjects have appealed to the poets more than the 
mother's love for the child. Some of the greatest lyrics in 
literature picture the tragic grief of the mother over her 
child. Tennyson's Rizpah is such a masterpiece, revealing 
the heart of an old woman who goes by night to collect, 
from the ground beneath a gibbet, the bones of her luckless 
son. Two poems in the present chapter exhibit this pas- 
sionate motherly love for the dead child. One is by Barnes Mary- 
of Dorsetshire, — William Barnes, who wrote in the Dorset- Ann's 
shire dialect. The peasant woman, " Meary-Ann," is alone p. 234. 
with her babe, in her house with the trees overhead. There 
is a storm outside. In the evening she notices that the 
child is not well. He grows worse with the advancing night, 
and she clasps him to her bosom. His struggles grow weak, 
and his cries die away. By a gleam of the moon she sees 
that his face is white as ashes. The other poem, Sydney how's my 
Dobell's How's my Boy? is a short dramatic dialogue, almost Boy ? 
a monologue. The mother is asking for news of her sailor 
boy. The sailor stares at her, and in her vexation she 
declares that she might as well have asked some landsman. 
Finally he tells her that her boy's ship has gone down. 
" What cares she for the ship ? How is her boy ? " " Every 
man on the ship went down." Even then she will not listen 
to the awful news, but cries, "What care I for the men, 
sailor? How's my boy — my boy? " 

In Matthew Arnold's beautiful little myth. The Forsaken xhe For- 
Merman, there is a mother of most unmotherly heart. The saken Mer- 

, . man, p. 238. 

poet imagmes a merman, a sea kmg, who has won a mortal 
maiden for his bride. By some magic, Margaret is enabled 
Q 



226 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

to live in the deep sea-caves. But by and by she grows 
anxious for her soul. It is Easter-time in the world, and 
she says she must go and pray in the little gray church on 
the shore. The merman lovingly bids her farewell for the 
time. Margaret departs, and does not return. Her hus- 
band and her little ones wait for her in vain. Then they 
steal up and gaze at her through the window of the church. 
He whispers to her, and the little ones call to her, but she 
gives them no look. They return with sad hearts to their 
pearly caves ; but the father promises the children that they 
shall go again by night and gaze on the white, sleeping 
town. 

In Arnold's Merman it is really the father's love that 
charms us. Poetry is full of that, too. From the terrible 
warrior Hector playing with his babe Astyanax, beautiful 
as a star, to the serene thinker Emerson, voicing in his 
Threnody his anguish for the star-eyed boy whom he lost, 
there is something about a father's love that ennobles its 
David and possessor. King David was never so kingly as in his grief 

Absa om, ^^^^ Absalom. Longfellow's The Chamber over the Gate 
P- 235. . ° 

is the modern version of that story, though nothing can 

match the pathos of the account in Samuel, translated into 

the short, simple words of our mother tongue. 

The Toys, Coventry Patmore wrote a poem in which a father grieves 

P" ^^' at his own harshness to his child. Mr. James Whitcomb 

Riley has a few heart-breaking lines on a similar subject. 

The parent cannot forget his cross rebuke of the baby, now 

dead, who came rowdying up to interrupt her busy father. 

Dante tells of a Florentine, Ugolino, whose enemy starved 

him and his sons in a tower. When the poet met him in 

the lower world, Ugolino told the story of the boys' death 

in this hunger-tower. " I did not suffer ; I grew as hard as 

stone. It was they who suffered." Ugolino's depth of grief 

and his hatred for his tormentor made him tearless. But 



THE HEARTH 



227 



there may be tearless grief without hate. Symonds/ the 
heroic man of letters who banished himself to the higher 
Alps in order to live, just as Stevenson banished himself to 
Samoa, has a poem of how a father's love may control a 
father's grief. Again the story is of an Italian. The artist An Epi- 
Luca Signorelli belonged to the great painters that made ^°^^' 
Italy in the fifteenth century a new Athens. Friends 
brought home the painter's son dead, a youth of seventeen. 
Luca did not weep. He would do the boy one last honor, 
and make for himself and the world one sad but enduring 
pleasure. He seized his brush, and began to paint the lad's 
picture. All day long he worked, and at eve they found 
him still painting with unerring handstroke. He was firm 
and dry- eyed. 

Neither in UgoHno's case nor in Luca's was there any 
chance for self-sacrifice on the part of the parent. Ugohno 
would have grasped eagerly any chance of starving to save 
his children from this fate. That was what the father of 
little Rhodope did, with a willingness so quiet that his child °^ ^,^°' 
did not suspect. Landor tells this story in prose which has p. 245. 
never been surpassed for beauty. 

Some such simplicity as Ugolino's, the simphcity which 
arises when a mourner can utter but few words, and must 
let these stand for all the unspoken anguish, appears in 
Kingsley's The Merry Lark. Like the other two songs by T^g Merry 
the same author (pp. 125, 229), this one is very sad, but it is Lark, 
perhaps more beautiful than either. Some father or mother 
is speaking of a great loss. The lark was merry, the hare 
was feeding in the field, the bells were ringing to the laughter 
of the child. Now the hare is killed, the lark has gone, the 
bells are silent, the baby lies in its cradle in the churchyard 
till the bells shall bring the parent there too. 

Time cannot change the parent's love. Even the sin of 

1 The^" in Symonds is short, likej in Lynn. 



p. 254- 



228 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

the child cannot destroy it. The old man in Mr. Robert 
Buchanan's poem has two sons, but these twain are one. 
There is the rough, cold soldier across the water ; there is 
the sinless little child upon his mother's knee. The first 
is a hard reality ; the second is a memory. 

Though filial love is a rare theme in poetry, there are 
Sohraband some glorious exceptions. Matthew Arnold's Sohrab and 
Rustum, Rustiim, one of the great poems of the century, is such an 
exception. It is based on an old Persian legend of the love 
between a child and a parent, made known to each too late. 
In its Persian form the story of Sohrab and Rustum was the 
work of the poet Firdusi, who lived in the tenth century, 
and wrote the national epic, The Shah-Nmneh, " Book of 
Kings." As Arnold tells it, modifying the ancient version 
somewhat, the story is this. Rustum, the mightiest of Per- 
sian warriors, made a long visit, when a young man, to the 
king of the Koords. The king gave Rustum his daughter 
in marriage. Before Rustum became a father, the old 
desire of wandering seized him, and he departed. He gave 
his wife a seal, that she might prick it on the arm of the 
babe she bore. The princess gave birth to a son, whom 
she named Sohrab. He grew in stature and strength, and 
became a warrior of the greatest promise. Learning the 
name of his father, Sohrab longed to see him, and deter- 
mined at last to seek him through the world. He joined 
the Tartars in their war on the Persians, chiefly in the hope 
of finding his father. When the two armies were encamped 
beside the Oxus, Sohrab proposed that the enemy be chal- 
lenged to send a champion to meet him in single combat ; 
for thus, he reasoned, he should come to the notice of the 
man he sought. The Persians persuaded Rustum himself 
to accept the challenge. Of course the latter did not know 
the identity of Sohrab. Likewise it happened that the 
mighty Rustum concealed his own name, being ashamed to 



THE HEARTH 220 

have it said he had stooped to meet any one man on equal 
terms. The two champions stood forth. In a long fight 
Sohrab proved a match for his antagonist ; but when the 
latter finally shouted " Rustum ! " as a war-cry, the youth 
was unmanned, and before he could recover himself was 
struck down. Dying, he showed to Rustum the seal upon 
his arm. The love he had so long borne to this unseen 
parent he now poured out with his blood. He crawled 
upon the ground to where his heart-broken father lay, and 
kissed him, and called him back to life. 



THE "OLD, OLD SONG" 
Charles Kingsley 

When all the world is young, lad, 

And all the trees are green ; 
And every goose a swan, lad. 

And every lass a queen, — 
Then hey for boot and horse, lad, 5 

And round the world away ; 
Young blood must have its course, lad, 

And every dog his day. 

When all the world is old, lad. 

And all the trees are brown ; • 10 

And all the sport is stale, lad, 

And all the wheels run down, — 
Creep home, and take your place there. 

The spent and maimed among : 
God grant you find one face there 15 

You loved when all was young. 



230 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 

DRIVING HOME THE COWS 
Kate Putnam Osgood 

Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass 

He turned them into the river lane ; 
One after another he let them pass, 

Then fastened the meadow bars again. 

Under the willows, and over the hill, 5 

He patiently followed their sober pace ; 

The merry whistle for once was still. 

And something shadowed the sunny face. 

Only a boy ! and his father had said 

He never could let his youngest go : 10 

Two already were lying dead 

Under the feet of the trampling foe. 

But after the evening work was done, 

And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp, 

Over his shoulder he slung his gun 15 

And stealthily followed the footpath damp. 

Across the clover and through the wheat 

With resolute heart and purpose grim, 
Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet, 

And the blind bat's flitting startled him. 20 

Thrice since then had the lanes been white, 
And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom ; 

And now, when the cows come back at night, 
The feeble father drove them home. 



THE HEARTH 



231 



For news had come to the lonely farm 25 

That three were lying where two had lain ; 

And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm 
Could never lean on a son's again. 

The summer day grew cool and late : 

He went for the cows when the work was done ; 30 
But down the lane, as he opened the gate, 

He saw them coming, one by one — 

Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess, 

Shaking their horns in the evening wind ; 

Cropping the buttercups out of the grass, — 35 

But who was it following close behind? 

Loosely swayed in the idle air 

The empty sleeve of army blue ; 
And worn and pale, from the crisping hair, 

Looked out a face that the father knew. 40 

For gloomy prisons will sometimes yawn, 

And yield their dead unto life again : 
And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn 

In golden glory at last may wane. 

The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes ; 4S 

For the heart must speak when the hps are dumb : 

And under the silent evening skies 

Together they followed the cattle home. 



Name the metre according to the number of accents. Trochaic or iam- 
bic ? Name the stanza and give the rhyme-scheme. 

Supposing that Mrs. Osgood could have commanded such quantities of 
picturesque detail as appear in The Voyage of Maeldune, vv^ould she have 
done vv^ell to fill this poem with such detail ? Give your reasons. 



232 STUDY OF LITERATURE 



THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE 

William Julius Mickle (?) 
Jean Adams (?) 

And are ye sure the news is true ! 

And are ye sure he's vveel? 
Is this a time to think of wark ! 

Mak haste, lay by your wheel ; 
Is this the time to spin a thread, 5 

When Cohn's at the door ! 
Reach me my cloak, I'll to the quay, 

And see him come ashore. 

For there's nae luck about the house, 

There's nae luck at a' ; 10 

There's little pleasure in the house 
When our gudeman's awa. 

And gie to me my bigonet. 

My bishop's satin gown ; 
For I maun tell the baillie's wife 15 

That Cohn's come to town. 
My Turkey slippers maun gae on, 

My stockings pearly blue ; 
It's a' to pleasure my gudeman. 

For he's baith leal and true. 20 

Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, 

Put on the muckle pot, 
Gie little Kate her button gown, 

And Jock his Sunday coat ; 

13. bigonet, a woman's cap. 22. muckle, large. 



THE HEARTH 233 

And mak their shoon as black as slaes, 25 

Their hose as white as snaw, 
It's a' to please my ain gudeman, 

For he's been long awa. 

There's twa fat hens upo' the bank 

Been fed this month and mair, 30 

Mak haste and thraw their necks about, 

That Colin weel may fare ; 
And mak the table neat and clean, 

Gar ilka thing look braw, 
For wha can tell how Colin far'd 35 

When he was far awa? 

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, 

His breath hke caller air. 
His very foot has music in't 

As he comes up the stair ! 4° 

And will I see his face again, 

And will I hear him speak ? 
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, 

In troth I'm like to greet. 

If CoHn's weel, and weel content, 45 

I hae nae mair to crave : 
And gin I live to keep him sae, 

I'm blest aboon the lave. 
And will I see his face again. 

And will I hear him speak? 5° 

I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought. 

In troth I'm like to greet. 

25. slaes, sloes. 34. Make everything look neat. 38. caller, sweet, fresh. 
41. The Scotch, like the Americans, are weak in their knowledge of shall 
and will. 44. greet, cry. 47. gin, if. 48. aboon the lave, above the rest. 



234 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

For there's nae luck about the house, 

There's nae luck at a' ; 
There's little pleasure in the house 55 

When our gudeman's awa. 



Is this poem purely narrative or purely lyrical, or a mixture of both 
tones ? The familiar Scotch music to which it is set is excellent. 



MARY-ANN'S CHILD 

William Barnes 

Mary- Ann was alone with her baby in arms, 

In her house with the trees overhead, 
For her husband was out in the night and the storms. 

In his business a-toihng for bread ; 
And she, as the wind in the elm-heads did roar, 5 

Did grieve to think he was all night out of door. 

And her kinsfolk and neighbors did say of her child 

(Under the lofty elm-tree). 
That a prettier never did babble and smile 

Up a-top of a proud mother's knee ; 10 

And his mother did toss him, and kiss him, and call 
Him her darling, and life, and her hope and her all. 

But she found in the evening the child was not well 

(Under the gloomy elm-tree). 
And she felt she could give all the world for to tell 15 

Of a truth what his aihng could be ; 
And she thought on him last in her prayers at night, 
And she look'd at him last as she put out the Hght. 



THE HEARTH 



235 



And she found him grow worse in the dead of the night 
(Under the gloomy ehn-tree), 20 

And she press' d him against her warm bosom so tight, 
And she rock'd him so sorrowfully ; 

And there, in his anguish, a-nestling he lay, 

Till his struggles grew weak, and his cries died away. 

And the moon was a-shining down into the place 25 

(Under the gloomy elm-tree). 
And his mother could see that his lips and his face 

Were as white as clean ashes could be ; 
And her tongue was a-tied, and her still heart did swell 
Till her senses came back with the first tear that fell. 30 

Never more can she feel his warm face in her breast 

(Under the leafy elm-tree), 
For his eyes are a-shut, and his hands are at rest, 

And he's now from his pain a-set free ; 
For his soul we do know is to heaven a-fled, 35 

Where no pain is a-known, and no tears are a-shed. 

Is the metre anapestic or dactyllic ? What is the rhyme-scheme? 

Is the poem eminently simple in diction, or is it elaborate ? Is elabo- 
rate diction natural to the expression of deep grief? Is the poem chiefly 
lyrical, or chiefly narrative ? 



DAVID AND ABSALOM 

2 Samuel xviii. 

And David sat between the two gates : and the watch- 
man said, Methinketh the running of the foremost is Hke 
the running of Ahimaaz the son of Zadok. And the king 
said. He is a good man, and cometh with good tidings. 
And Ahimaaz called, and said unto the king, All is well. 
And he fell down to the earth upon his face before the 



236 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



king, and said, Blessed be the Lord thy God, which hath 
delivered up the men that lifted up their hand against my 
lord the king. And the king said. Is the young man 
Absalom safe ? And Ahimaaz answered. When Joab sent lo 
the king's servant, and me thy servant, I saw a great 
tumult, but I knew not what it was. And the king said 
unto him. Turn aside, and stand here. And he turned 
aside, and stood still. And, behold, Cushi came; and 
Cushi said, Tidings, my lord the king : for the Lord hath 15 
avenged thee this day of all them that rose up against 
thee. And the king said unto Cushi, Is the young man 
Absalom safe ? And Cushi answered, The enemies of my 
lord the king, and all that rise against thee to do thee 
hurt, be as that young man is. And the king was much 20 
moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate, and 
wept : and as he went, thus he said, O my son Absalom, 
my son, my son Absalom ! would God I had died for 
thee, O Absalom, my son, my son. 

From your knowledge of rhetoric, say whether the sentences are loose or 
periodic. Are periodic sentences natural to the expression of deep grief ? 
Note the great number of initial Ands ; do they lend simplicity or com- 
plexity to the tone of the narrative ? 

HOW^S MY BOY? 

Sydney Dobell 

" Ho, Sailor of the sea ! 
How's my boy — my boy?" 
"What's your boy's name, good wife, 
And in what good ship sail'd he? " 

" My boy John — 5 

He that went to sea — 

What care I for the ship, sailor? 

My boy's my boy to me. 



THE HEARTH 337 

"You come back from sea, 

And not know my John? 10 

I might as well have ask'd some landsman 

Yonder down in the town. 

There's not an ass in all the parish 

But he knows my John. 

" How' s my boy — my boy ? 15 

And unless you let me know 

I'll swear you are no sailor, 

Blue jacket or no, 

Brass buttons or no, sailor, 

Anchor and crown or no ! 20 

Sure his ship was the Jolly Briton " — 

"Speak low, woman, speak low! " 

"And why shpuld I speak low, sailor, 

About my own boy John ? 

If I was loud as I am proud 25 

I'd sing him over the town! 

Why should I speak low, sailor?" 

"That good ship went down." 

"How's my boy — my boy? 

What care I for the ship, sailor? 30 

I was never aboard her. 

Be she afloat or be she aground, 

Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound, 

Her owners can afford her ! 

I say, how's my John? " 35 

" Every man on board went down, 

Every man aboard her." 

"How's my boy — my boy? 

What care I for the men, sailor? 



238 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

I'm not their mother — 4° 

How' s my boy — my boy ? 
Tell me of him and no other ! 
How's my boy — my boy?" 

Is there any excuse for the irregular metre of this poem? Is the poem 
chiefly lyrical or chiefly narrative ? 



THE FORSAKEN MERMAN 

Matthew Arnold 

Come, dear children, let us away; 

Down and away below ! 

Now my brothers call from the bay. 

Now the great winds shoreward blow, 

Now the salt tides seaward flow; 5 

Now the wild white horses play. 

Champ and chafe and toss in the spray. 

Children dear, let us away ! 

This way, this way ! 

Call her once before you go — 10 

Call once yet ! 

In a voice that she will know: 

" Margaret ! Margaret ! ' ' 

Children's voices should be dear 

(Call once more) to a mother's ear; 15 

Children's voices, wild with pain — 

Surely she will come again ! 

Call her once and come away; 

This way, this way ! 

" Mother dear, we cannot stay ! 20 

The wild white horses foam and fret." 

Margaret ! Margaret ! 



THE HEARTH 239 

Come, dear children, come away down; 

Call no more ! 

One last look at the white-wall' d town, 25 

And the little gray church on the windy shore; 

Then come down ! 

She will not come though you call all day; 

Come away, come away ! 

Children dear, was it yesterday 30 

We heard the sweet bells over the bay? 

In the caverns where we lay, 

Through the surf and through the swell. 

The far-off sound of a silver bell? 

Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, 35 

Where the winds are all asleep; 

Where the spent lights quiver and gleam. 

Where the salt weed sways in the stream. 

Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round, 

Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground; 40 

Where the sea-snakes coil and twine. 

Dry their mail and bask in the brine; 

Where great whales come sailing by, 

Sail and sail, with unshut eye. 

Round the world for ever and aye? 45 

When did music come this way? 

Children dear, was it yesterday? 

Children dear, was it yesterday 

(Call yet once) that she went away? 

Once she sate with you and me, go 

On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea. 

And the youngest sate on her knee. ^ 

She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well. 

When down swung the sound of a far-off bell. 



240 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear green sea; 55 

She said : " I must go, for my kinsfolk pray 

In the little gray church on the shore to-day. 

'Twill be Easter-time in the world — ah me! 

And I lose my poor soul, Merman! here with thee." 

I said: "Go up, dear heart, through the waves; 60 

Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves ! " 

She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay. 

Children dear, was it yesterday ? 

Children dear, were we long alone? 

"The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan; 65 

Long prayers," I said, "in the world they say; 

Come ! " I said; and we rose through the surf in the bay. 

We went up the beach, by the sandy down 

Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-wall'd town; 

Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still, 70 

To the little gray church on the windy hill. 

From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers. 

But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. 

We climb' d on the graves, on the stones worn with rains. 

And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes. 

She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear: 76 

" Margaret, hist ! come quick, we are here ! 

Dear heart," I said, "we are long alone; 

The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan." 

But, ah, she gave me never a look, 80 

For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book! 

Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door. 

Come away, children, call no more ! 

Come away, come down, call no more ! 

Down, down, down 1 85 

Down to the depths of the sea I 



THE HEARTH 24 1 

She sits at her wheel in the humming town, 

Singing most joyfully. 

Hark what she sings: "O joy, O joy, 

For the humming street, and the child with its toy ! 90 

For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well; 

For the wheel where I spun. 

And the blessed light of the sun ! " 

And so she sings her fill, 

Singing most joyfully, 95 

Till the spindle drops from her hand. 

And the whizzing wheel stands still. 

She steals to the window, and looks at the sand, 

And over the sand at the sea; 

And her eyes are set in a stare; ^ 100 

And anon there breaks a sigh. 

And anon there drops a tear. 

From a sorrow-clouded eye. 

And a heart sorrow-laden, 

A long, long sigh; 105 

For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden 

And the gleam of her golden hair. 

Come away, away, children; 

Come children, come down ! 

The hoarse wind blows coldly; no 

Lights shine in the town. 

She will start from her slumber 

When gusts shake the door; 

She will hear the winds howling, 

Will hear the waves roar. 115 

We shall see, while above us 

The waves roar and whirl, 

A ceiling of amber, 

A pavement of pearl. 



242 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Singing : " Here came a mortal, 120 

But faithless was she ! 
And alone dwell forever 
The kings of the sea." 

But, children, at midnight, 

When soft the winds blow, 125 

When clear falls the moonlight, 

When spring-tides are low; 

When sweet airs come seaward 

From heaths starr'd with broom, 

And high rocks throw mildly 130 

On the blanch'd sands a gloom; 

Up the still, glistening beaches, 

Up the creeks we will hie. 

Over banks of bright seaweed 

The ebb-tide leaves dry. 135 

We will gaze, from the sand-hills, 

At the white, sleeping town; 

At the church on the hill-side — 

And then come back down. 

Singing : " There dwells a loved one, 140 

But cruel is she ! 

She left lonely forever 

The kings of the sea." 

This poem must not be read hastily when read aloud ; let the voice 
linger a little after each short line, and what seems like awkward irregular- 
ity will prove a true rhythm, pleasantly varied. 

Is the poem mostly narrative or mostly lyrical? Which of these words 
might be applied to the merman : gentle, melancholy, pathetic, treacherous, 
true? How does Arnold succeed in making the depths of the sea attractive? 
Can you remember stories in which the same regions were rendered very 
unlovely? What physical traits of the merman and his children are men- 
tioned? Is there anything in Arnold's conception of the merman different 
from a human being, except the ability to breathe in water? 



THE HEARTH 



243 



THE TOYS 

Coventry Patmore 

My little son, who look'd from thoughtful eyes 
And mov'd and spoke in quiet grown-up wise. 
Having my law the seventh time disobey' d, 
I struck him, and dismiss' d 

With hard words and unkiss'd, S 

His Mother, who was patient, being dead. 
Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, 
I visited his bed. 
But found him slumbering deep, 

With darken' d eyelids, and their lashes yet 10 

From his late sobbing wet. 
And I, with moan. 

Kissing away his tears, left others of my own; 
For, on a table drawn beside his head. 
He had put, within his reach, 15 

A box of counters and a red-vein'd stone, 
A piece of glass abraded by the beach, 
And six or seven shells, 
A bottle with bluebells 

And two French copper coins, ranged there with careful 
art, 20 

To comfort his sad heart. 
So when that night I pray'd 
To God, I wept, and said : 
Ah, when at last we lie with tranced breath, 
Not vexing Thee in death, 25 

And Thou rememberest of what toys 
We made our joys. 



244 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

How weakly understood 

Thy great commanded good, 

Then, fatherly not less 30 

Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the clay, 

Thou 'It leave Thy wrath, and say, 

"I will be sorry for their childishness." 



AN EPISODE 
John Addington Symonds 

Vasari tells that Luca Signorelli, 

The morning star of Michael Angelo, 

Had but one son, a youth of seventeen summers. 

Who died. That day the master at his easel 

Wielded the liberal brush wherewith he painted s 

At Orvieto, on the Duomo's walls. 

Stern forms of Death and Heaven and Hell and Judgment. 

Then came they to him, and cried : " Thy son is dead. 

Slain in a duel; but the bloom of life 

Yet lingers round red lips and downy cheek." 10 

Luca spoke not, but listen' d. Next they bore 

His dead son to the silent painting-room, 

And left on tiptoe son and sire alone. 

Still Luca spoke and groan' d not; but he rais'd 

The wonderful dead youth, and smooth' d his hair, 15 

Wash'd his red wounds, and laid him on a bed. 

Naked and beautiful, where rosy curtains 

Shed a soft glimmer of uncertain splendor 

Lifelike upon the marble limbs below. 

2. That is, the herald of Michael Angelo ; Luca preceded Angelo, and 
as an artist was like him in many ways. 6. Duomo means cathedral ; 
the German word is Dom ; our English do7ne is the same word, with a 
changed meaning. 



THE HEARTH 



245 



Then Luca seiz'd his palette : hour by hour 20 

Silence was in the room; none durst approach t 
Morn wore to noon, and noon to eve, when shyly 
A little maid peep'd in, and saw the painter 
Painting his dead son with unerring handstroke, 
Firm and dry-ey'd before the lordly canvas. 25 

^^Hiat is the metre? What previous examples of it? 



THE SELLING OF RHODOPE 

Walter Savage Landor 

Rhodope. Never shall I forget the morning when my 
father, sitting in the coolest part of the house, exchanged 
his last measure of grain for a chlamys of scarlet cloth 
fringed with silver. He watched the merchant out of 
the door, and then looked wistfully into the corn chest. 5 
I, who thought there was something worth seeing, looked 
in also, and finding it empty, expressed my disappoint- 
ment, not thinking, however, about the corn. A faint 
and transient smile came over his countenance at the 
sight of mine. He unfolded the chlamys, stretched it 10 
out with both hands before me, and then cast it over my 
shoulders. I looked down on the glittering fringe and 
screamed with joy. He then went out; and I know not 
what flowers he gathered, but he gathered many; and 
some he placed in my bosom, and some in my hair. 15 
But I told him with captious pride, first that I could 
arrange them better, and again that I would have only 
the white. However, when he had selected all the 
white, and I had placed a few of them according to my 

3. chlamys (a kind of cloak) is pronounced clamis. 



246 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



fancy, I told him (rising in my slipper) he might crown 20 
me with the remainder. The splendor of my apparel 
gave me a sensation of authority. Soon as the flowers 
had taken their station on my head, I expressed a dig- 
nified satisfaction at the taste displayed by my father, 
just as if I could have seen how they appeared ! But he 25 
knew that there was at least as much pleasure as pride 
in it, and perhaps we divided the latter (alas ! not both) 
pretty equally. He now took me into the market place, 
where a concourse of people was waiting for the purchase 
of slaves. Merchants came and looked at me; some 30 
commending, others disparaging; but all agreeing that I 
was slender and delicate, that I could not live long, and 
that I should give much trouble. Many would have 
bought the chlamys, but there was something less salable 
in the child and flowers. 35 

^sop. Had thy features been coarse, and thy voice 
rustic, they would all have patted thy cheeks and found 
no fault in thee. 

Rhod. As it was, every one had bought exactly such 
another in time past, and been a loser by it. At these 40 
speeches I perceived the flowers tremble slightly on my 
bosom, from my father's agitation. Although he scoffed 
at them, knowing my healthiness, he was troubled inter- 
nally, and said many short prayers, not very unlike 
imprecations, turning his head aside. Proud was I, 45 
prouder than ever, when at last several talents were 
offered for me, and by the very man who, in the begin- 
ning, had undervalued me the most, and prophesied the 
worst of me. My father scowled at him and refused the 
money. I thought he was playing a game, and began to 50 
wonder what it could be, since I had never seen it 
played before. Then I fancied it might be some cele- 
bration because plenty had returned to the city, inso- 



THE HEARTH 



247 



much that my father had bartered the last of the corn 
he hoarded. I grew more and more delighted at the 55 
sport. But soon there advanced an elderly man, who 
said gravely: "Thou hast stolen this child: her vesture 
alone is worth above a hundred drachmas. Carry her 
home again to her parents, and do it directly, or Neme- 
sis and the Eumenides will overtake thee." Knowing 60 
the estimation in which my father had always been 
holden by his fellow-citizens, I laughed again, and 
pinched his ear. He, although naturally choleric, burst 
forth into no resentment at these reproaches, but said 
calmly, " I think I know thee by name, O guest ! Surely 65 
thou art Xanthus the Samian. Deliver this child from 
famine." 

Again I laughed aloud and heartily; and thinking it 
was now my part of the game, I held out both my arms 
and protruded my whole body towards the stranger. He 70 
would not receive me from my father's neck, but he 
asked me with benignity and solicitude if I was hungry; 
at which I laughed again, and more than ever; for it 
was early in the morning, soon after the first meal, and 
my father had nourished me most carefully and plenti- 75 
fully in all the days of the famine. But Xanthus, wait- 
ing for no answer, took out of a sack, which one of his 
slaves carried at his side, a cake of wheaten bread and a 
piece of honeycomb, and gave them to me. I held the 
honeycomb to my father's mouth, thinking it the most 80 
of a dainty. He dashed it to the ground; but seizing 
the bread, he began to devour it ferociously. This, 
also, I thought was in play; and I clapped my hands at 
his distortions. But Xanthus looked on him like one 

59. Nemesis was the Greek name for the avenging fate that follows 
sin. The Eumenides were the Furies — goddesses whose duty was to hunt 
down criminals. 



248 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



afraid, and smote the cake from him, crying aloud, 85 
"Name the price." My father now placed me in his 
arms, naming a price much below what the other had 
offered, saying, "The gods are ever with thee, O Xan- 
thus! therefore to thee do I consign my child." But 
while Xanthus was counting out the silver, my father 90 
seized the cake again, which the slave had taken up and 
was about to replace in the wallet. His hunger was 
exasperated by the taste and the delay. Suddenly there 
arose much tumult. Turning round in the old woman's 
bosom who had received me from Xanthus, I saw my 95 
beloved father struggling on the ground, livid and 
speechless. The more violent my cries, the more rap- 
idly they hurried me away; and many were soon between 
us. Little was I suspicious that he had suffered the 
pangs of famine long before : alas ! and he had suffered 100 
them for me. Do I weep while I am telling you how 
they ended ? I could not have closed his eyes, I was too 
young; but I might have received his last breath, the 
only comfort of an orphan's bosom. Do you now think 
him blamable, O ^sop ? 105 

^s. It was sublime humanity: it was forbearance 
and self-denial which even the immortal gods have never 
shown us. He could endure to perish by those torments 
which alone are both acute and slow; he could number 
the steps of death and miss not one; but he could never no 
see thy tears, nor let thee see his. O weakness above 
all fortitude ! Glory to the man who rather bears a grief 
corroding his breast, than permits it to prowl beyond, 
and to prey on the tender and compassionate ! Women 
commiserate the brave, and men the beautiful. The 115 
dominion of pity has usually this extent, no wider. 
Thy father was exposed to the obloquy not only of the 
malicious, but also of the ignorant and thoughtless, who 



THE HEARTH 



249 



condemn in the unfortunate what they applaud in the 
prosperous. There is no shame in poverty or in slavery, 120 
if we neither make ourselves poor by our improvidence 
nor slaves by our venality. The lowest and the highest 
of the human race are sold : most of the intermediate 
are also slaves, but slaves who bring no money into the 
market. 125 

Rhod. Surely the great and powerful are never to be 
purchased, are they? 

^s. It may be a defect in my vision, but I cannot 
see greatness on the earth. What they tell me is great 
and aspiring, to me seems little and crawling. Let me 130 
meet thy question with another. What monarch gives 
his daughter for nothing? Either he receives stone 
walls and unwilling cities in return, or he barters her for 
a parcel of spears and horses and horsemen, waving 
away from his declining and helpless age young joyous 135 
life, and trampling down the freshest and sweetest 
memories. Midas, in the height of prosperity, would 
have given his daughter to Sycaon, rather than to the 
gentlest, the most virtuous, the most intelligent of his 
subjects. Thy father threw wealth aside, and, placing 140 
thee under the protection of virtue, rose up from the 
house of famine to partake in the festivals of the gods. 
Release my neck, O Rhodope ! for I have other questions 
to ask of thee about him. 

Rhod. To hear thee converse on him in such a 145 
manner I can do even that. 

^s. Before the day of separation was he never sor- 
rowful? Did he never by tears or silence reveal the 
secret of his soul? 

Rhod. I was too infantine to perceive or imagine his 150 
intention. The night before I became the slave of 
Xanthus, he sat on the edge of my bed. I pretended 



250 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



to be asleep : he moved away silently and softly. I saw 
him collect in the hollow of his hand the crumbs I had 
wasted on the floor, and then eat them, and then look 155 
if any were remaining. I thought he did so out of 
fondness for me, remembering that, even before the 
famine, he had often swept up off the table the bread I 
had broken, and had made me put it between his lips. 
I would not dissemble very long, but said : — 160 

" Come, now you have wakened me, you must sing 
me asleep again, as you did when I was little." 

He smiled faintly at this, and after some delay, when 
he had walked up and down the chamber, thus began : — ■ 

" I will sing to thee one song more, my wakeful 165 
Rhodope ! my chirping bird! over whom is no mother's 
wing ! That it may lull thee asleep. I will celebrate 
no longer, as in the days of wine and plenteousness, 
the glory of Mars, guiding in their invisibly rapid onset 
the dappled steeds of Rhsesus. What hast thou to do, 170 
my little one, with arrows tired of clustering in the 
quiver? How much quieter is thy pallet than the tents 
which whitened the plain of Simois! What knowest 
thou about the river Eurotas? What knowest thou 
about its ancient palace, once trodden by the assembled 17s 
gods, and then polluted by the Phrygians ? What knowest 
thou of perfidious men or of sanguinary deeds? 

"Pardon me, O goddess who presidest in Cythera! I 
am not irreverent to thee, but ever grateful. May she 
upon whose brow I laid my hand praise and bless thee 180 
for evermore. 

" Ah yes ! continue to hold up above the coverlet those 
fresh and rosy palms clasped together; her benefits have 

170. Rhcesus was a hero, mentioned in Homer's Iliad, who was famous 
for his steeds, the gift of a god. 178. Mount Cythera, the favorite abode 
of Venus, 



THE HEARTH 



251 



descended on thy beauteous head, my child. The fates 
also have sung beyond thy hearing, of pleasanter scenes 185 
than the snow-fed Hebrus; of more than dim grottoes 
and sky-bright waters. Even now a low murmur swells 
upward to my ear; and not from the spindle comes the 
sound, but from those who sing slowly over it, bending 
all three their tremulous heads together. I wish thou 190 
could' St hear it; for seldom are their voices so sweet. 
Thy pillow intercepts the song perhaps, lie down again, 
lie down, my Rhodope — I will repeat what they are 
saying : — 

"'Happier shalt thou be, nor less glorious than even 195 
she, the truly beloved, for whose return to the distaff 
and the lyre, the portals of Tsenarus flew open. In the 
woody dells of Ismarus, and when she bathed among the 
swans of Strymon, the nymphs called her Eurydice. 
Thou shalt behold that fairest and that fondest one here- 200 
after. But first thou must go unto the land of the lotos, 
where famine never cometh, and where alone the works 
of man are immortal.' O my child! the undeceiving 
fates have uttered this. Other powers have visited me, 
and have strengthened my heart with dreams and visions. 205 
We shall meet again, my Rhodope, in shady groves and 
verdant meadows, and we shall sit by the side of those 
who loved us." 

He was rising : I threw my arms about his neck, and 
before I would let him go, I made him promise to place 210 
me, not by the side, but between them; for I thought 
of her who had left us. At that time there were but 
two, O ^sop! You ponder; you are about to reprove 
my assurance in having thus repeated my own praises. 



188. The spindle is that of the fates, the goddesses who spin the thread 
of life and cut it. 



252 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



I would have omitted some of the words, only that it 215 
might have disturbed the measure and cadences, and 
have put me out. They are the very words my dearest 
father sang; and they are the last. Yet, shame upon 
me ! the nurse (the same who stood listening near, who 
attended me into this country) could remember them 220 
more perfectly; it is from her I have learned them since; 
she often sings them, even by herself. 

j^s. So shall others. There is much both in them 
and in thee to render them memorable. . . . The 
dullest of mortals, seeing and hearing thee, would never 225 
misinterpret the prophecy of the fates. If, turning 
back, I could overpass the vale of years, and could stand 
on the mountain top, and could look again far before 
me at the bright ascending morn, we could enjoy the 
prospect together; we would walk along the summit 230 
hand in hand, O Rhodope ! and we would only sigh at 
last when we found ourselves below with others. 

This exquisite prose will bear the closest reading. Note its carefully 
chosen poetic words, and its stately sentence-structure. 



THE MERRY LARK 
Charles Kingsley 

The merry, merry lark was up and singing. 

And the hare was out and feeding on the lea, 
And the merry, merry bells below were ringing. 

When my child's laugh rang through me. 4 

Now the hare is snared and dead beside the snowyard. 

And the lark beside the dreary winter sea. 
And my baby in his cradle in the churchyard 

Waiteth there until the bells bring me. 



THE HEARTH 253 

TWO SONSi 
Robert Buchanan 

I have two sons, wife — 

Two, and yet the same; 
One his wild way runs, wife, 
Bringing us to shame. 
The one is bearded, sunburnt, grim, and fights across the 
sea, 5 

The other is a little child who sits upon your knee. 

One is fierce and cold, wife, 

As the wayward deep; 
Him no arms could hold, wife. 

Him no breast could keep. 10 

He has tried our hearts for many a year, not broken them; 

for he 
Is still the sinless little one that sits upon your knee. 

One may fall in fight, wife — 

Is he not our son? 
Pray with all your might, wife, 15 

For the wayward one; 
Pray for the dark, rough soldier, who fights across the sea. 
Because you love the little shade who smiles upon your 
knee. 

One across the foam, wife, 

As I speak may fall; 20 

But this one at home, wife, 
Cannot die at all. 
They both are only one; and how thankful should we be, 
We cannot lose the darling son who sits upon your knee ! 

1 Reprinted by permission of Little, Brown, & Co. 



254 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

SOHRAB AND RUSTUM 

AN EPISODE 

Matthew Arnold 

And the first gray of morning filled the east, 

And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. 

But all the Tartar camp along the stream 

Was hushed, and still the men were plunged in sleep; 

Sohrab alone, he slept not; all night long 5 

He had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed; 

But when the gray dawn stole into his tent. 

He rose, and clad himself, and girt his sword, 

And took his horseman's cloak, and left his tent, 

And went abroad into the cold wet fog, 10 

Through the dim camp to Peran-Wisa's tent. 

Through the black Tartar tents he passed, which stood 
Clustering like beehives on the low flat strand 
Of Oxus, where the summer floods o'erflow 
When the sun melts the snows in high Pamere ; 15 

Through the black tents he passed, o'er that low strand. 
And to a hillock came, a little back 
From the stream's brink — the spot where first a boat. 
Crossing the stream in summer, scrapes the land. 
The men of former times had crowned the top 20 

With a clay fort; but that was fall'n, and now 
The Tartars built there Peran-Wisa's tent, 
A dome of laths, and o'er it felts were spread. 
And Sohrab came there, and went in, and stood 
Upon the thick piled carpets in the tent, 25 

And found the old man sleeping on his bed 

II. Wisa — the i is pronounced like e. 



THE HEARTH 



255 



Of rugs and felts, and near him lay his arms. 

And Peran-Wisa heard him, though the step 

Was dulled; for he slept light, an old man's sleep; 

And he rose quickly on one arm, and said : — 30 

" Who art thou ? for it is not yet clear dawn. 
Speak! is there news, or any night alarm?" 

But Sohrab came to the bedside, and said : 
"Thou know' St me, Peran-Wisa! it is I. 
The sun is not yet risen, and the foe 35 

Sleep; but I sleep not; all night long I lie 
Tossing and wakeful, and I come to thee. 
For so did King Afrasiab bid me seek 
Thy counsel, and to heed thee as thy son, 
In Samarcand, before the army marched; 40 

And I will tell thee what my heart desires. 
Thou know' St if, since from Ader-baijan first 
I came among the Tartars and bore arms, 
I have still served Afrasiab well, and shown, 
At my boy's years, the courage of a man. 45 

This too thou know'st, that while I still bear on 
The conquering Tartar ensigns through the world, 
And beat the Persians back on every field, 
I seek one man, one man, and one alone — 
Rustum, my father; who I hoped should greet, 50 

Should one day greet, upon some well-fought field, 
His not unworthy, not inglorious son. 
So I long hoped, but him I never find. 
Come then, hear now, and grant me what I ask. 
Let the two armies rest to-day; but I 55 

Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lords 
To meet me, man to man; if I prevail, 
Rustum will surely hear it; if I fall — 
Old man, the dead need no one, claim no kin. 

42. Ader-baij'ari — the / is pronounced like^. 



256 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Dim is the rumor of a common fight, 60 

Where host meet host, and many names are sunk; 
But of a single combat fame speaks clear." 

He spoke; and Peran-Wisa took the hand 
Of the young man in his, and sighed, and said : 

"O Sohrab, an unquiet heart is thine! 65 

Canst thou not rest among the Tartar chiefs, 
And share the battle's common chance with us 
Who love thee, but must press forever first, 
In single fight incurring single risk. 

To find a father thou hast never seen? 70 

That were far best, my son, to stay with us 
Unmurmuring; in our tents, while it is war, 
And when 'tis truce, then in Afrasiab's towns. 
But, if this one desire indeed rules all. 
To seek out Rustum — seek him not through fight ! 75 

Seek him in peace, and carry to his arms, 
O Sohrab, carry an unwounded son ! 

But far hence seek him, for he is not here. 
For now it is not as when I was young. 
When Rustum was in front of every fray; 80 

But now he keeps apart, and sits at home, 
In Seistan, with Zal, his father old. 
Whether that his own mighty strength at last 
Feels the abhorred approaches of old age. 
Or in some quarrel with the Persian King. 85 

There go ! — thou wilt not ? Yet my heart forebodes 
Danger or death awaits thee on this field. 
Fain would I know thee safe and well, though lost 
To us ; fain therefore send thee hence, in peace 
To seek thy father, not seek single fights 90 

In vain; — but who can keep the lion's cub 
From ravening, and who govern Rustum 's son? 
Go, I will grant thee what thy heart desires." 



THE HEARTH 257 

So said he, and dropped Sohrab's hand, and left 
His bed, and the warm rugs whereon he lay; 95 

And o'er his chilly limbs his woollen coat 
He passed, and tied his sandals on his feet, 
And threw a white cloak round him, and he took 
In his right hand a ruler's staff, no sword; 
And on his head he set his sheepskin cap, 100 

Black, glossy, curled, the fleece of Kara-Kul; 
And raised the curtain of his tent, and called 
His herald to his side, and went abroad. 

The sun by this had risen, and cleared the fog 
From the broad Oxus and the glittering sands. 105 

And from their tents the Tartar horsemen filed 
Into the open plain; so Haman bade — 
Haman, who next to Peran-Wisa ruled 
The host, and still was in his lusty prime. 
From their black tents, long files of horse, they streamed; no 
As when some gray November morn the files. 
In marching order spread, of long-necked cranes 
Stream over Casbin and the southern slopes 
Of Elburz, from the Aralian estuaries. 
Or some frore Caspian reed-bed, southward bound 115 

For the warm Persian seaboard — so they streamed. 
The Tartars of the Oxus, the King's guard. 
First, with black sheepskin caps and with long spears; 

94-103. This is in imitation of Homer. 111-116. This is what is called 
an Homeric simile. The mark of it is the poet's drifting away from the 
exact point of the comparison to other details where the comparison does 
not hold. The horses were in files, like cranes ; but the horses were not 
moving over Casbin, etc., to the Persian seaboard. 115. frore means 
frozen. To emphasize a description of cold, Milton uses the phrase " burned 
frore." 1 16-135. This enumeration is in imitation of Homer. Poetic 
enumeration had much interest to the old Greek audiences, whose tribes 
and ancestors were included. It has some interest for modern readers, 
giving a notion of vast numbers, and many incidental touches of pictur- 
esqueness. 

S 



258 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Large men, large steeds; who from Bokhara come 

And Khiva, and ferment the milk of mares. 120 

Next, the more temperate Toorkmuns of the south, 

The Tukas, and the lances of Salore, 

And those from Attruck and the Caspian sands; 

Light men and on light steeds, who only drink 

The acrid milk of camels, and their wells. 125 

And then a swarm of wandering horse, who came 

From far, and a more doubtful service owned; 

The Tartars of Ferghana, from the banks 

Of the Jaxartes, men with scanty beards 

And close-set skullcaps; and those wilder hordes 130 

Who roam o'er Kipchak and the northern waste, 

Kalmucks and unkempt Kuzzaks, tribes who stray 

Nearest the Pole, and wandering Kirghizzes, 

Who come on shaggy ponies from Pamere; 

These all filed out from camp into the plain. 135 

And on the other side the Persians formed; — 

First a light cloud of horse, Tartars they seemed, 

The Ilyats of Khorassan; and behind. 

The royal troops of Persia, horse and foot. 

Marshalled battalions bright in burnished steel. 140 

But Peran-Wisa with his herald came, 

Threading the Tartar squadrons to the front. 

And with his staff kept back the foremost ranks. 

And when Ferood, who led the Persians, saw 

That Peran-Wisa kept the Tartars back, 145 

He took his spear, and to the front he came. 

And checked his ranks, and fixed them where they stood. 

And the old Tartar came upon the sand 

Betwixt the silent hosts, and spake, and said : 

"Ferood, and ye, Persians and Tartars, hear! 150 

Let there be truce between the hosts to-day. 
But choose a champion from the Persian lords 



THE HEARTH 



259 



To fight our champion Sohrab, man to man." 

As, in the country, on a morn in June, 
When the dew glistens on the pearled ears, 155 

A shiver runs through the deep corn for joy — 
So, when they heard what Peran-Wisa said, 
A thrill through all the Tartar squadrons ran 
Of pride and hope for Sohrab, whom they loved. 

But as a troop of pedlers, from Cabool, 160 

Cross underneath the Indian Caucasus, 
That vast sky-neighboring mountain of milk snow; 
Crossing so high, that, as they mount, they pass 
Long flocks of travelling birds dead on the snow. 
Choked by the air, and scarce can they themselves 165 

Slake their parched throats with sugared mulberries — 
In single file they move, and stop their breath, 
For fear they should dislodge the o'erhanging snows — 
So the pale Persians held their breath with fear. 

And to Ferood his brother chiefs came up 170 

To counsel; Gudurz and Zoarrah came, 
And Feraburz, who ruled the Persian hosts 
Second, and was the uncle of the King; 
These came and counselled, and then Gudurz said: 

" Ferood, shame bids us take their challenge up, 175 

Yet champion have we none to match this youth. 
He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart. 
But Rustum came last night; aloof he sits 
And sullen, and has pitched his tents apart. 
Him will I seek, and carry to his ear i8o 

The Tartar challenge, and this young man's name. 
Haply he will forget his wrath, and fight. 
Stand forth the while, and take their challenge up." 

160-169. A very fine Homeric simile, but without a counterpart in 
Homer. 166. sugared mulberries of course does not mean fresh mul- 
berries, though all mulberries are excessively sweet. 



26o STUDY OF LITERATURE 

So spake he; and Ferood stood forth and cried: 
" Old man, be it agreed as thou hast said ! 185 

Let Sohrab arm, and we will find a man." 

He spake : and Peran-Wisa turned, and strode 
Back through the opening squadrons to his tent. 
But through the anxious Persians Gudurz ran. 
And crossed the camp which lay behind, and reached, 190 
Out on the sands beyond it, Rustum's tents. 
Of scarlet cloth they were, and glittering gay. 
Just pitched; the high pavilion in the midst 
Was Rustum's, and his men lay camped around. 
And Gudurz entered Rustum's tent, and found 195 

Rustum; his morning meal was done, but still 
The table stood before him, charged with food — 
A side of roasted sheep, and cakes of bread, 
And dark-green melons; and there Rustum sate 
Listless, and held a falcon on his wrist, 200 

And played with it; but Gudurz came and stood 
Before him; and he looked, and saw him stand, 
And with a cry sprang up and dropped the bird, 
And greeted Gudurz with both hands, and said : 

" Welcome ! these eyes could see no better sight. 205 
What news? but sit down first, and eat and drink." 

But Gudurz stood in the tent door, and said : 
" Not now ! a time will come to eat and drink, 
But not to-day ; to-day has other needs. 
The armies are drawn out, and stand at gaze; 210 

For from the Tartars is a challenge brought 
To pick a champion from the Persian lords 
To fight their champion — and thou know'st his name — 
Sohrab men call him, but his birth is hid. 
O Rustum, like thy might is this young man's ! 215 

He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart; 
And he is young, and Iran's chiefs are old, 



THE HEARTH 26 1 

Or else too weak; and all eyes turn to thee. 
Come down and help us, Rustum, or we lose ! " 

He spoke; but Rustum answered with a smile: 220 

"Go to! if Iran's chiefs are old, then I 
Am older; if the young are weak, the King 
Errs strangely; for the King, for Kai Khosroo, 
Himself is young, and honors younger men 
And lets the aged moulder to their graves. 225 

Rustum he loves no more, but loves the young — 
The young may rise at Sohrab's vaunts, not I. 
For what care I, though all speak Sohrab's fame? 
For would that I myself had such a son. 
And not that one slight helpless girl I have — 230 

A son so famed, so brave, to send to war. 
And I to tarry with the snow-haired Zal, 
My father, whom the robber Afghans vex. 
And clip his borders short, and drive his herds, 
And he has none to guard his weak old age. 235 

There would I go, and hang my armor up. 
And with my great name fence that weak old man, 
And spend the goodly treasures I have got. 
And rest my age, and hear of Sohrab's fame. 
And leave to death the hosts of thankless kings, 240 

And with these slaughterous hands draw sword no 
more." 

He spoke, and smiled; and Gudurz made reply: 
"What then, O Rustum, will men say to this. 
When Sohrab dares our bravest forth, and seeks 
Thee most of all, and thou, whom most he seeks, 245 

Hidest thy face ? Take heed lest men should say : 
'Like some old miser, Rustum hoards his fame. 
And shuns to peril it with younger men.' " 

And, greatly moved, then Rustum made reply : 
"O Gudurz, wherefore dost thou say such words? 250 



262 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Thou knowest better words than this to say. 

What is one more, one less, obscure or famed, 

Valiant or craven, young or old, to me ? 

Are not they mortal, am not I myself? 

But who for men of naught would do great deeds? 255 

Come, thou shalt see how Rustum hoards his fame ! 

But I will fight unknown, and in plain arms; 

Let not men say of Rustum, he was matched 

In single fight with any mortal man." 

He spoke, and frowned; and Gudurz turned, and 
ran 260 

Back quickly through the camp in fear and joy — 
Fear at his wrath, but joy that Rustum came. 
But Rustum strode to his tent door, and called 
His followers in, and bade them bring his arms, 
And clad himself in steel; the arms he chose 265 

Were plain, and on his shield was no device, 
Only his helm was rich, inlaid with gold. 
And, from the fluted spine atop, a plume 
Of horsehair waved, a scarlet horsehair plume. 
So armed, he issued forth; and Ruksh, his horse, 270 

Followed him like a faithful hound at heel — 
Ruksh, whose renown was noised through all the earth. 
The horse, whom Rustum on a foray once 
Did in Bokhara by the river find 

A colt beneath its dam, and drove him home, 275 

And reared him; a bright bay, with lofty crest, 
Dight with a saddlecloth of broidered green 
Crusted with gold, and on the ground were worked 
All beasts of chase, all beasts which hunters know. 
So followed, Rustum left his tents, and crossed 28a 

The camp, and to the Persian host appeared. 
And all the Persians knew him, and with shouts 
Hailed; but the Tartars knew not who he was. 



THE HEARTH 



263 



And dear as the wet diver to the eyes 

Of his pale wife who waits and weeps on shore, 285 

By sandy Bahrein, in the Persian Gulf, 

Plunging all day in the blue waves, at night, 

Having made up his tale of precious pearls, 

Rejoins her in their hut upon the sands — 

So dear to the pale Persians Rustum came. 290 

And Rustum to the Persian front advanced. 
And Sohrab armed in Haman's tent, and came. 
And as afield the reapers cut a swath 
Down through the middle of a rich man's corn, 
And on each side are squares of standing corn, 295 

And in the midst a stubble, short and bare — 
So on each side were squares of men, with spears 
Bristling, and in the midst, the open sand. 
And Rustum came upon the sand, and cast 
His eyes toward the Tartar tents, and saw 300 

Sohrab come forth, and eyed him as he came. 

As some rich woman, on a winter's morn. 
Eyes through her silken curtains the poor drudge 
Who with numb blackened fingers makes her fire — 
At cockcrow, on a starlit winter's morn, 305 

When the frost flowers the whitened window-panes — 
And wonders how she lives, and what the thoughts 
Of that poor drudge may be; so Rustum eyed 
The unknown adventurous youth, who from afar 
Came seeking Rustum, and defying forth 310 

All the most valiant chiefs; long he perused 

284. The simile is perhaps suggested by Homer, 701-708, where Paris 
and Hector are as dear to the eyes of their despairing comrades as a 
favorable wind to sailors becalmed, 286. Bahrein — the last syllable is 
like rain. 288. tale means reckoning. Thus Milton's shepherd "tells 
his tale" — that is, counts his sheep. Probably the King James translators 
did not mean by tale a "story," when they wrote, "We spend our days as 
a tale that is told." 



264 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

His spirited air, and wondered who he was. 

For very young he seemed, tenderly reared ; 

Like some young cypress, tall, and dark, and straight, 

Which in a queen's secluded garden throws 315 

Its slight dark shadow on the moonlit turf. 

By midnight, to a bubbling fountain's sound — 

So slender Sohrab seemed, so softly reared. 

And a deep pity entered Rustum's soul 

As he beheld him coming; and he stood, 320 

And beckoned to him with his hand, and said : 

" O thou young man, the air of heaven is soft, 
And warm, and pleasant; but the grave is cold! 
Heaven's air is better than the cold dead grave. 
Behold me ! I am vast, and clad in iron, 325 

And tried; and I have stood on many a field 
Of blood, and I have fought with many a foe — 
Never was that field lost, or that foe saved. 
O Sohrab, wherefore wilt thou rush on death? 
Be governed ! quit the Tartar host, and come 330 

To Iran, and be as my son to me, 
And fight beneath my banner till I die ! 
There are no youths in Iran brave as thou." 

So he spake, mildly; Sohrab heard his voice, 
The mighty voice of Rustum, and he saw 335 

His giant figure planted on the sand. 
Sole, like some single tower, which a chief 
Hath builded on the waste in former years 
Against the robbers; and he saw that head, 
Streaked with its first gray hairs; — hope filled his soul, 340 
And he ran forward and embraced his knees. 
And clasped his hand within his own, and said: 

"Oh, by thy father's head! by thine own soul! 
Art thou not Rustum? speak! art thou not he? " 

But Rustum eyed askance the kneeling youth, 345 



THE HEARTH 



265 



And turned away, and spake to his own soul : 

"Ah me, I muse what this young fox may mean! 

False, wily, boastful, are these Tartar boys. 

For if I now confess this thing he asks, 

And hide it not, but say : ^ Rustum is here ! ' 350 

He will not yield indeed, nor quit our foes. 

But he will find some pretext not to fight, 

And praise my fame, and proffer courteous gifts, 

A belt or sword perhaps, and go his way. 

And on a feast-tide, in Afrasiab's hall, 355 

In Samarcand, he will arise and cry : 

*I challenged once, when the two armies camped 

Beside the Oxus, all the Persian lords 

To cope with me in single fight; but they 

Shrank, only Rustum dared; then he and I 360 

Changed gifts, and went on equal terms away.' 

So will he speak, perhaps, while men applaud; 

Then were the chiefs of Iran shamed through me." 
And then he turned, and sternly spake aloud : 

" Rise ! wherefore dost thou vainly question thus 365 

Of Rustum ? I am here, whom thou hast called 

By challenge forth; make good thy vaunt, or yield! 

Is it with Rustum only thou wouldst fight? 

Rash boy, men look on Rustum' s face and flee! 

For well I know, that did great Rustum stand 370 

Before thy face this day, and were revealed, 

There would be then no talk of fighting more. 

But being what I am, I tell thee this — 

Do thou record it in thine inmost soul : 

Either thou shalt renounce thy vaunt and yield, 375 

Or else thy bones shall strew this sand, till winds 

Bleach them, or Oxus with his summer floods, 

Oxus in summer wash them all away." 

He spoke; and Sohrab answered, on his feet: 



266 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

"Art thou so fierce? Thou wilt not fright me so! 380 

I am no girl, to be made pale by words. 

Yet this thou hast said well, did Rustum stand 

Here on this field, there were no fighting then. 

But Rustum is far hence, and we stand here. 

Begin ! thou art more vast, more dread than I, 385 

And thou art proved, I know, and I am young. 

But yet success sways with the breath of heaven. 

And though thou thinkest that thou knowest sure 

Thy victory, yet thou canst not surely know. 

For we are all, like swimmers in the sea, 390 

Poised on the top of a huge wave of fate, 

Which hangs uncertain to which side to fall. 

And whether it will heave us up to land, 

Or whether it will roll us out to sea, 

Back out to sea, to the deep waves of death, 395 

We know not, and no search will make us know; 

Only the event will teach us in its hour." 

He spoke, and Rustum answered not, but hurled 
His spear; down from the shoulder, down it came, 
As on some partridge in the corn a hawk, 400 

That long has towered in the airy clouds. 
Drops like a plummet; Sohrab saw it come, 
And sprang aside, quick as a flash; the spear 
Hissed, and went quivering down into the sand. 
Which it sent flying wide; — then Sohrab threw 405 

In turn, and full struck Rustum 's shield; sharp rang. 
The iron plates rang sharp, but turned the spear. 
And Rustum seized his club, which none but he 
Could wield ; an unlopped trunk it was, and huge, 

390-397. This strong simile of fate is Arnold's own. Though the 
Greeks thought much on fate, the Persians thought of it still more, 
408 fF. The description is suggested by Homer's description of Achilles' 
spear, Iliad 19. 388 ff. 



THE HEARTH 



267 



Still rough — like those which men in treeless plains 410 

To build them boats fish from the flooded rivers, 

Hyphasis or Hydaspes, when, high up 

By their dark springs, the wind in winter time 

Hath made in Himalayan forests wrack. 

And strewn the channels with torn boughs — so huge 415 

The club which Rustum lifted now, and struck 

One stroke; but again Sohrab sprang aside. 

Lithe as the glancing snake, and the club came 

Thundering to earth, and leapt from Rustum 's hand. 

And Rustum followed his own blow, and fell 420 

To his knees, and with his fingers clutched the sand; 

And now might Sohrab have unsheathed his sword, 

And pierced the mighty Rustum while he lay 

Dizzy, and on his knees, and choked with sand; 

But he looked on, and smiled, nor bared his sword, 425 

But courteously drew back, and spoke, and said : 

"Thou strik'st too hard! that club of thine will float 
Upon the summer floods, and not my bones. 
But rise, and be not wroth! not wroth am I; 
No, when I see thee, wrath forsakes my soul, 430 

Thou say'st, thou art not Rustum; be it so! 
Who art thou then, that canst so touch my soul. 
Boy as I am, I have seen battles too — 
Have waded foremost in their bloody waves, 
And heard their hollow roar of dying men; 435 

But never was my heart thus touched before. 
Are they from Heaven, these softenings of the heart? 
O thou old warrior, let us yield to Heaven ! 
Come, plant we here in earth our angry spears. 
And make a truce, and sit upon this sand, 440 

And pledge each other in red wine, like friends. 
And thou shalt talk to me of Rustum' s deeds. 
There are enough foes in the Persian host, 



268 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Whom I may meet, and strike, and feel no pang; 
Champions enough Afrasiab has, whom thou 445 

May St fight; fight them, when they confront thy spear! 
But oh, let there be peace 'twixt thee and me ! " 

He ceased, but while he spake, Rustum had risen, 
And stood erect, trembling with rage; his club 
He left to lie, but had regained his spear, 450 

Whose fiery point now in his mailed right hand 
Blazed bright and baleful, like that autumn star, 
The baleful sign of fevers; dust had soiled 
His stately crest, and dimmed his glittering arms. 
His breast heaved, his lips foamed, and twice his voice 455 
Was choked with rage; at last these words broke way: 

" Girl ! nimble with thy feet, not with thy hands ! 
Curled minion, dancer, coiner of sweet words ! 
Fight, let me hear thy hateful voice no more ! 
Thou art not in Afrasiab 's gardens now 460 

With Tartar girls, with whom thou art wont to dance; 
But on the Oxus sands, and in the dance 
Of battle, and with me, who make no play 
Of war; I fight it out, and hand to hand. 
Speak not to me of truce, and pledge, and wine ! 465 

Remember all thy valor; try thy feints 
And cunning ! all the pity I had is gone ; 
Because thou hast shamed me before both the hosts 
With thy light skipping tricks, and thy girl's wiles." 

He spoke, and Sohrab kindled at his taunts, 470 

And he too drew his sword; at once they rushed 
Together, as two eagles on one prey 

4S7~479- The fierce heat of such lines as these must not be over- 
looked by those who think of Arnold as a " cold" poet. 472-473. Here is 
a simile taken from Homer, but it is not Homeric in the sense mentioned 
above. Neither Homer nor his modern imitator could take time to let his 
mind stray from the struggle. 



THE HEARTH 



269 



Come rushing down together from the clouds, 

One from the east, one from the west; their shield. 

Dashed with a clang together, and a din 475 

Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters 

Make often in the forest's heart at morn. 

Of hewing axes, crashing trees — such blows 

Rustum and Sohrab on each other hailed. 

And you would say that sun and stars took part 480 

In that unnatural conflict; for a cloud 

Grew suddenly in heaven, and darkened the sun 

Over the fighters' heads; and a wind rose 

Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain, 

And in a sandy whirlwind wrapped the pair. 485 

In gloom they twain were wrapped, and they alone; 

For both the on-looking hosts on either hand 

Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure. 

And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream. 

But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes 490 

And laboring breath; first Rustum struck the shield 

Which Sohrab held stiff out; the steel-spiked spear 

Rent the tough plates, but failed to reach the skin. 

And Rustum plucked it back with angry groan. 

Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum' s helm, 495 

Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the crest 

He shore away, and that proud horsehair plume. 

Never till now defiled, sank to the dust; 

And Rustum bowed his head; but then the gloom 

Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air, 500 

And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, the horse, 

Who stood at hand, uttered a dreadful cry; — 

No horse's cry was that, most like the roar 

501, Do you remember the terrible cry of the wolf-hunted horses 
in "The Last of the Mohicans," Chapter VI.? It frightened even 
Hawkeye. 



270 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Of some pained desert lion, who all day 

Hath trailed the hunter's javelin in his side, 505 

And comes at night to die upon the sand. 

The two hosts heard that cry, and quaked for fear, 

And Oxus curdled as it crossed his stream. 

But Sohrab heard, and quailed not, but rushed on. 

And struck again; and again Rustum bowed 510 

His head; but this time all the blade, like glass. 

Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm. 

And in the hand the hilt remained alone. 

Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful eyes 

Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear, 515 

And shouted : " Rustum ! " — Sohrab heard that shout. 

And shrank amazed : back he recoiled one step. 

And scanned with blinking eyes the advancing form; 

And then he stood bewildered; and he dropped 

His covering shield, and the spear pierced his side. 520 

He reeled, and, staggering back, sank to the ground; 

And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind fell, 

And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all 

The cloud; and the two armies saw the pair — 

Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet, 525 

And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand. 

Then, with a bitter smile, Rustum began: 
" Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to kill 
A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse, 
And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab's tent; 530 

Or else that the great Rustum would come down 
Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would move 
His heart to take a gift, and let thee go; 
And then that all the Tartar host would praise 
Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy fame, 535 

To glad thy father in his weak old age. 
Fool, thou art slain, and by an unknown man ! 



THE HEARTH 2/1 

Dearer to the red jackals shalt thou be 
Than to thy friends, and to thy father old." 

And, with a fearless mien, Sohrab replied : 540 

"Unknown thou art; yet thy fierce vaunt is vain. 
Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful man ! 
No ! Rustum slays me, and this filial heart. 
For were I matched with ten such men as thee, 
And I were that which till to-day I was, 545 

They should be lying here, I standing there. 
But that beloved name unnerved my arm — 
That name, and something, I confess, in thee, 
Which troubles all my heart, and made my shield 
Fall; and thy spear transfixed an unarmed foe. .550 

And now thou boastest, and insult' st my fate. 
But hear thou this, fierce man, tremble to hear: 
The mighty Rustum shall avenge my death ! 
My father, whom I seek through all the world, 
He shall avenge my death, and punish thee ! " 555 

As when some hunter in the spring hath found 
A breeding eagle sitting on her nest, 
Upon the craggy isle of a hill lake. 
And pierced her with an arrow as she rose. 
And followed her to find her where she fell 560 

Far off; — anon her mate comes winging back 
From hunting, and a great way off descries 
His huddling young left sole; at that, he checks 
His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps 
Circles above his eyry, with loud screams 565 

Chiding his mate back to her nest; but she 
Lies dying, with the arrow in her side, 
In some far stony gorge out of his ken, 

556-575. Arnold has not forgotten the eagle and its poetic possibilities ; 
now the time has come for him to let his fancy run, and how good is the 
result ! This simile is not in Homer. 



272 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



A heap of fluttering feathers — never more 

Shall the lake glass her, flying over it; 570 

Never the black and dripping precipices 

Echo her stormy scream as she sails by — 

As that poor bird flies home, nor knows his loss, 

So Rustum knew not his own loss, but stood 

Over his dying son, and knew him not. 575 

But, with a cold incredulous voice, he said : 
"What prate is this of fathers and revenge? 
The mighty Rustum never had a son." 

And, with a failing voice, Sohrab replied : 
"Ah yes, he had ! and that lost son am I. 580 

Surely the news will one day reach his ear. 
Reach Rustum, where he sits, and tarries long, 
Somewhere, I know not where, but far from here; 
And pierce him like a stab, and make him leap 
To arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee. 585 

Fierce man, bethink thee, for an only son ! 
What will that grief, what will that vengeance be? 
Oh, could I live till I that grief had seen ! 
Yet him I pity not so much, but her. 
My mother, who in Ader-baijan dwells 590 

With that old king, her father, who grows gray 
With age, and rules over the valiant Koords. 
Her most I pity, who no more will see 
Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp, 
With spoils and honor, when the war is done. 595 

But a dark rumor will be bruited up, 
From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear; 
And then will that defenceless woman learn 
That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more, 
But that in battle with a nameless foe, ' 600 

By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain." 

He spoke; and as he ceased, he wept aloud. 



THE HEARTH 



273 



Thinking of her he left, and his own death. 

He spoke; but Rustum listened, plunged in thought. 

Nor did he yet believe it was his son 605 

Who spoke, although he called back names he knew; 

For he had had sure tidings that the babe, 

Which was in Ader-baijan born to him, 

Had been a puny girl, no boy at all — 

So that sad mother sent him word, for fear 610 

Rustum should seek the boy, to train in arms. 

And so he deemed that either Sohrab took, 

By a false boast, the style of Rustum 's son; 

Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame. 

So deemed he : yet he listened, plunged in thought; 615 

And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide 

Of the bright rocking Ocean sets to shore 

At the full moon; tears gathered in his eyes; 

For he remembered his own early youth, 

And all its bounding rapture; as, at dawn, 620 

The shepherd from his mountain lodge descries 

A far, bright city, smitten by the sun, 

Through many rolling clouds — so Rustum saw 

His youth; saw Sohrab' s mother, in her bloom; 

And that old king, her father, who loved well 625 

His wandering guest, and gave him his fair child 

With joy; and all the pleasant life they led, 

They three, in that long-distant summer time — 

The castle, and the dewy woods, and hunt 

And hound, and morn on those delightful hills 630 

In Ader-baijan. And he saw that youth, 

Of age and looks to be his own dear son, 

Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand, 

620-624. The tone of this exquisite simile is more modern than Homer 
and yet is antique in its bright simplicity. 
T 



2/4 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Like some rich hyacinth which by the scythe 

Of an unskilful gardener has been cut, 635 

Mowing the garden grassplots near its bed, 

And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom, 

On the mown, dying grass — so Sohrab lay, 

Lovely in death, upon the common sand. 

And Rustum gazed on him with grief, and said : 640 

" O Sohrab, thou indeed art such a son 
Whom Rustum, wert thou his, might well have loved ! 
Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men 
Have told thee false — thou art not Rustum' s son. 
For Rustum had no son; one child he had — 645 

But one — a girl; who with her mother now 
Plies some light female task, nor dreams of us — 
Of us she dreams not, nor of wounds, nor war." 

But Sohrab answered him in wrath; for now 
The anguish of the deep-fixed spear grew fierce, 650 

And he desired to draw forth the steel. 
And let the blood flow free, and so to die — 
But first he would convince his stubborn foe; 
And, rising sternly on one arm, he said : 

"Man, who art thou who dost deny my words? 655 

Truth sits upon the lips of dying men. 
And falsehood, while I lived, was far from mine. 
I tell thee, pricked upon this arm I bear 
The seal which Rustum to my mother gave. 
That she might prick it on the babe she bore." 660 

He spoke; and all the blood left Rustum's cheeks, 
And his knees tottered, and he smote his hand 
Against his breast, his heavy mailed hand, 

634-639. Homer likens a slain youth to a drooping poppy, but he would 
have thought it fanciful and over-elaborate to call a hyacinth " a tower of 
purple bloom." How good "common sand" is, contrasted with the deli- 
cate fairness of the dead boy 1 



THE HEARTH 



275 



That the hard iron corselet clanked aloud; 

And to his heart he pressed the other hand, 665 

And in a hollow voice he spake, and said : 

" Sohrab, that were a proof which could not lie ! 
If thou show this, then art thou Rustum's son." 

Then, with weak hasty fingers, Sohrab loosed 
His belt, and near the shoulder bared his arm, 670 

And showed a sign in faint vermilion points 
Pricked; as a cunning workman, in Pekin, 
Pricks with vermilion some clear porcelain vase. 
An emperor's gift — at early morn he paints, 
And all day long, and, when night comes, the lamp 675 
Lights up his studious forehead and thin hands — 
So delicately pricked the sign appeared 
On Sohrab 's arm, the sign of Rustum's seal. 
It was that griffin, which of old reared Zal, 
Rustum's great father, whom they left to die, 680 

A helpless babe, among the mountain rocks; 
Him that kind creature found and reared, and loved — 
Then Rustum took it for his glorious sign. 
And Sohrab bared that image on his arm. 
And himself scanned it long with mournful eyes, 685 

And then he touched it with his hand, and said : 

"How say' St thou? Is that sign the proper sign 
Of Rustum's son, or of some other man's? " 

He spoke; but Rustum gazed, and gazed, and stood 
Speechless; and then he uttered one sharp cry: 690 

" O boy — thy father ! " — and his voice choked there. 
And then a dark cloud passed before his eyes, 
And his head swam, and he sank down to earth. 
But Sohrab crawled to where he lay, and cast 

669-678. This lovely simile has a phrase or two from Homer, and is 
Homeric in its straying from the point; but the beautiful conception is 
Arnold's own. 



276 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



His arms about his neck, and kissed his lips, 695 

And with fond faltering fingers stroked his cheeks, 
Trying to call him back to life; and life 
Came back to Rustum, and he oped his eyes. 
And they stood wide with horror; and he seized 
In both his hands the dust which lay around, 700 

And threw it on his head, and smirched his hair, — 
His hair, and face, and beard, and glittering arms; 
And strong convulsive groanings shook his breast, 
And his sobs choked him; and he clutched his sword. 
To draw it, and forever let life out. 705 

But Sohrab saw his thought, and held his hands. 
And with a soothing voice he spake, and said : 

" Father, forbear ! for I but meet to-day 
The doom which at my birth was written down 
In heaven, and thou art heaven's unconscious hand. 710 
Surely my heart cried out that it was thou, 
When first I saw thee; and thy heart spoke too, 
I know it ! but fate trod those promptings down 
Under its iron heel; fate, fate engaged 
The strife, and hurled me on my father's spear. 715 

But let us speak no more of this ! I find 
My father; let me feel that I have found! 
Come, sit beside me on this sand, and take 
My head betwixt thy hands, and kiss my cheeks. 
And wash them with thy tears, and say: 'My son! * 720 

Quick ! quick ! for numbered are my sands of life, 
And swift; for like the lightning to this field 
I came, and like the wind I go away — 
Sudden, and swift, and like a passing wind. 
But it was writ in heaven that this should be." 725 

So said he, and his voice released the heart 
Of Rustum, and his tears broke forth; he cast 
His arms round his son's neck, and wept aloud. 



THE HEARTH 



277 



And kissed him. And awe fell on both the hosts, 

When they saw Rustum's grief; and Ruksh, the horse, 730 

With his head bowing to the ground and mane 

Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute woe 

First to the one then to the other moved 

His head, as if inquiring what their grief 

Might mean; and from his dark, compassionate eyes, 735 

The big warm tears rolled down, and caked the sand. 

But Rustum chid him with stern voice, and said : 

"Ruksh, now thou grievest; but, O Ruksh, thy feet 
Should first have rotted on their nimble joints, 
Or ere they brought thy master to this field ! " 740 

But Sohrab looked upon the horse, and said : 
"Is this, then, Ruksh? How often, in past days, 
My mother told me of thee, thou brave steed. 
My terrible father's terrible horse! and said, 
That I should one day find thy lord and thee. 745 

Come, let me lay my hand upon thy mane ! 
O Ruksh, thou art more fortunate than I; 
For thou hast gone where I shall never go. 
And snuffed the breezes of my father's home. 
And thou hast trod the sands of Seistan, 750 

And seen the River of Helmund, and the Lake 
Of Zirrah; and the aged Zal himself 
Has often stroked thy neck, and given thee food. 
Corn in a golden platter, soaked with wine. 
And said: 'O Ruksh! bear Rustum well,' — but I 755 

Have never known my grandsire's furrowed face, 
Nor seen his lofty house in Seistan, 
Nor slaked my thirst at the clear Helmund stream; 
But lodged among my father's foes, and seen 
Afrasiab's cities only, Samarcand, 760 

Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste, 
And the black Toorkmun tents; and only drunk 



2/8 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



The desert rivers, Moorghab and Tejend, 

Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed their sheep, 

The northern Sir ; and this great Oxus stream, 765 

The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die." 

Then, with a heavy groan, Rustum bewailed : 
" Oh, that its waves were flowing over me ! 
Oh, that I saw its grains of yellow silt 
Roll tumbling in the current o'er my head ! " 770 

But, with a grave mild voice, Sohrab replied : 
"Desire not that, my father! thou must live. 
For some are born to do great deeds, and live, 
As some are born to be obscured, and die. 
Do thou the deeds I die too young to do, 775 

And reap a second glory in thine age; 
Thou art my father, and thy gain is mine. 
But come ! thou seest this great host of men 
Which follow me; I pray thee, slay not these! 
Let me entreat for them ; what have they done ? 780 

They followed me, my hope, my fame, my star. 
Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace. 
But me thou must bear hence, not send with them, 
But carry me with thee to Seistan, 

And place me on a bed, and mourn for me, 785 

Thou, and the snow-haired Zal, and all thy friends. 
And thou must lay me in that lovely earth. 
And heap a stately mound above my bones, 
And plant a far-seen pillar over all. 

That so the passing horseman on the waste 79° 

May see my tomb a great way off, and cry : 
'Sohrab, the mighty Rustum' s son, lies there. 
Whom his great father did in ignorance kill ! ' 
And I be not forgotten in my grave." 

And, with a mournful voice, Rustum replied : 795 

" Fear not ! as thou hast said, Sohrab, my son. 



THE HEARTH 



279 



So shall it be; for I will burn my tents, 

And quit the host, and bear thee hence with me, 

And carry thee away to Seistan, 

And place thee on a bed, and mourn for thee, 800 

With the snow-headed Zal, and all my friends. 

And I will lay thee in that lovely earth. 

And heap a stately mound above thy bones. 

And plant a far-seen pillar over all. 

And men shall not forget thee in thy grave. 805 

And I will spare thy host; yea, let them go! 

Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace ! 

What should I do with slaying any more ? 

For would that all that I have ever slain 

Might be once more alive; my bitterest foes, 810 

And they who were called champions in their time. 

And through whose death I won that fame I have — 

And I were nothing but a common man, 

A poor, mean soldier, and without renown. 

So thou mightest live too, my son, my son! 815 

Or rather would that I, even I myself, 

Might now be lying on this bloody sand. 

Near death, and by an ignorant stroke of thine. 

Not thou of mine ! and I might die, not thou; 

And I, not thou, be borne to Seistan; 820 

And Zal might weep above my grave, not thine; 

And say : ' O son, I weep thee not too sore. 

For willingly, I know, thou met'st thine end! ' 

But now in blood and battles was my youth. 

And full of blood and battles is my age, 825 

And I shall never end this life of blood." 

Then, at the point of death, Sohrab replied : 
" A life of blood indeed, thou dreadful man ! 
But thou shalt yet have peace; only not now. 
Not yet ! but thou shalt have it on that day 830 



28o STUDY OF LITERATURE 

When thou shalt sail in a high-masted ship, 
Thou and the other peers of Kai Khosroo, 
Returning home over the salt blue sea, 
From laying thy dear master in his grave." 

And Rustum gazed in Sohrab's face, and said: 835 

" Soon be that day, my son, and deep that sea ! 
Till then, if fate so wills, let me endure." 

He spoke; and Sohrab smiled on him, and took 
The spear, and drew it from his side, and eased 
His wound's imperious anguish; but the blood 840 

Came welling from the open gash, and life 
Flowed with the stream; — all down his cold white 

side 
The crimson torrent ran, dim now and soiled. 
Like the soiled tissue of white violets 
Left, freshly gathered, on their native bank, 845 

By children whom their nurses call with haste 
Indoors from the sun's eye; his head drooped low. 
His limbs grew slack; motionless, white, he lay — 
White, with eyes closed; only when heavy gasps. 
Deep heavy gasps quivering through all his frame, 850 

Convulsed him back to life, he opened them. 
And fixed them feebly on his father's face; 
Till now all strength was ebbed, and from his limbs 
Unwillingly the spirit fled away. 

Regretting the warm mansion which it left, 855 

And youth, and bloom, and this delightful world. 

So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead; 
And the great Rustum drew his horseman's cloak 
Down o'er his face, and sate by his dead son. 
As those black granite pillars, once high-reared 860 

By Jemshid in Persepolis, to bear 
His house, now 'mid their broken flight of steps 
Lie prone, enormous, down the mountain side — 



THE HEARTH 28 1 

So in the sand lay Rustum by his son. 

And night came down over the solemn waste, 865 

And the two gazing hosts, and that sole pair. 
And darkened all; and a cold fog, with night, 
Crept from the Oxus. Soon a hum arose, 
As of a great assembly loosed, and fires 
Began to twinkle through the fog; for now 870 

Both armies moved to camp, and took their meal; 
The Persians took it on the open sands 
Southward, the Tartars by the river marge; 
And Rustum and his son were left alone. 

But Ihe majestic river floated on, 875 

Out of the mist and hum of that low land, 
Into the frosty starlight, and there moved, 
Rejoicing, through the hushed Chorasmian waste, 
Under the solitary moon; — he flowed 
Right for the polar star, past Orgunje, 880 

Brimming, and bright, and large; then sands begin 
To hem his watery march, and dam his streams, 
And split his currents; that for many a league 
The shorn and parcelled Oxus strains along 
Through beds of sand and matted rushy isles — 885 

Oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had 
In his high mountain cradle in Pamere, 
A foiled circuitous wanderer — till at last 
The longed-for dash of waves is heard, and wide 
His luminous home of waters opens, bright 890 

And tranquil, from whose floor the new-bathed stars 
Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea. 

875-892. It is not fanciful to say that this superb passage is an allegory 
of human life. It is pure allegory, not mixed ; that is, no definite word, 
like life, gives us the clue. Is " Pilgrim's Progress " a pure allegory, or 
mixed? 

Has the poem hjgh seriousness ? Is it musical ? Is it strong in emo- 
tional power ? in description ? in dramatic climax ? 



282 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Plan of Summary. — Reviewing the chapter, (i) enumerate the 
kinds of metre, designating them by the number of accents and by the 
predominant foot. Then (2) say which poem is most noticeable for mel- 
ody; (3) which for beauty of suggested sights; (4) which for pleasure 
of suggested sounds; (5) which for pleasure of suggested activity; 
(6) which for pleasure of suggested odors or tastes; (7) which is 
most easily understood; (8) which moves the reader most deeply; 
(9) which shows most skill in character drawing; (10) which has the 
best unity; (11) which, your critical judgment tells you, is the best 
piece of work; (12) which you like the best, — without regard to its 
deserved rank, or its fame. 



CHAPTER VII 

THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 

The outdoor world is man's strength, medicine, delight. 
It seems to him most beautiful when it interprets for him 
his happiest feelings — as we gather from Thomas Ashe's 
poem called Sympathy, When he feels jolly all things Sympathy, 
seem jolly ; ^" ^^^" 

The sun dances up in the sky, 

The moon dances down in the dews. 

When he feels sad, nature seems sad also. To the poet 

the sea-wind yesterday suggested liberty ; to-day it sounds Watson's 

like a fettered soul trying to speak. Doubtless it would be yokJes*''^ 

better for man to study nature for its own sake, and learn p. 294. 

what it has to say to him ; but, as a matter of fact, man's 

view of nature is deeply colored by his own moods. 

The outdoor world engages all human beings. It satis- 
fies the curiosity of the child, whose business it is to get 
acquainted with the wonderful place in which he finds him- 
self. All animals interest him, for he must learn which are 
naturally his friends and comrades, which his enemies. All 
physical laws interest him, for nature must teach him that 
some things are heavy, others light ; some dull, others sharp ; 
some cold, others hot ; some poisonous, others wholesome. 
If he does not learn these laws, he will be, as Professor Hux- 
ley puts it, " untimely ended." 

Nature is the place to which the grown man looks for 
rest and calm after the struggles of the city. He slips into 
the woods to be quieted in soul. He goes up into the moun- 

283 



284 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

tain to seek serenity, for here he looks down upon the war- 
ring world and sees that after all it is not to be taken too 
seriously. The mountain teaches him firmness and faith. 
And when the stars come out, the man that yesterday tired 
his eyes over a ledger now soothes them with gazing into 
infinite miles of rest. 

Midway between childhood and manhood is youth, and 
early youth is the age which loves nature in her fresh and 
happy moods. Since the world is freshest and happiest in 
the morning, we may speak in this chapter of nature's cheer- 
ful phases under the head of the " Morning Landscape." For 
the morning landscape is full of exhilaration, and cries out 
with the joy of activity. " The sun cometh forth from his 
chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race." 
This is the time of day when hard tasks are play. Every 
breath seems to reach the finger-tips. Flowers have no 
heavy sweetness like that of house-blown roses in a room ; 
they are aromatic now. It is the hour of daffodil and brier- 
rose and clover-dew. The streams are not sluggish and 
lazy, for the slowest is ahve with sun. Let us review the 
morning moods of the year. 

As youth is the morning of hfe, so, said the Greek, is 

springtime the youth of the year. The farther south we 

go, the earher this youth begins. In Italy it is spring in 

Pippa January. Browning's little heroine, Pippa, is a factory girl. 

Passes, ^jjQ j^^g |^^|. Qj^g holiday in the year, and that is New Year's, 
p. 295. J J J 

She leaps from her bed determined to make the most of the 

time. Wherever she goes she sings merrily, and her songs 

are overheard by others, and quite unknown to Pippa they 

save many a hfe from its evil instincts. The first song that 

she carols captures in eight lines the whole springtime. 

In England in January there are no larks in the heaven 

nor snails on the thorn ; but a little later there is green in 

the mountains. Among the Westmoreland hills Words- 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 



285 



worth wrote his stanzas on March. No flowers yet, but March, 
sunny grass in the field. Cattle are grazing — forty feeding P- ^95- 
like one — and everybody is at work, from the baby to the 
grandsire. 

Presently, both in England and America, the crocus 
appears. Mr. Thomas Bailey Aldrich, in a graceful sonnet, 
has found words for the feehng of surprise and joy that 
springs up at sight of the first crocus. He likens himself 
to Crusoe discovering the footprints in the sand. In the 
mother country the crocus blooms in far greater profusion 
than in America. Tennyson, remembering the look of 
these dehcate blossoms that mantle the greensward, wrote 
one of the finest similes in English : — 

And at her feet the crocus brake like fire ! ^ 

Before March is over in England the daffodils arrive ; 
not in patches beside the door, but in the fields by the 
thousand. Shakspere calls them 

Daffodils 
That come before the swallows dare, and take 
The winds of March with beauty. 

It was on one of his long Westmoreland walks that, " wan- 
dering lonely as a cloud," Wordsworth saw a host of these I wandered 
golden flowers, beside the lake, beneath the trees. A ver}- 
simple matter, surely ; yet Wordsworth received such delight p. 296. 
from that glance that those daffodils have become a posses- 
sion of thousands. They gladdened the poet still more 
when his memory ran back to them as he lay within doors. 
The dweller in cities understands what this means, as he 
thinks back on his summer vacation. 

The first poet to praise an American flower was Bryant, The Yellow 
in his musical lines on the Yellow Violet. 



Lonely as a 
Cloud, 



This hardiest 

p. 297. 



1 From CE/ione, describing the goddess Venus, 
spring up sometimes where a goddess trod. 



Flowers were fabled to 



286 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

little blossom of its family appears in April, on the very edge 

of the lingering snowbank. Bryant cannot help moralizing 

(to himself) about it. He is ashamed that in May he should 

forget the flower he welcomed so joyfully a month before. 

Less musical than Bryant's song about the violet, but 

The Rho- more profound, are Emerson's lines on the Rhodora. Some 

dora, Qj^g Yi^^ asked him "whence is the flower," and the wise 

p. 298. 

poet answered that " if eyes were made for seeing, then 

beauty is it own excuse for being." No one knows why 

or how Heaven made the rhodora. It exists, and it is 

beautiful to look upon. 

Walt Whitman, whom some critics think a true maker of 

poetry and others think merely a gatherer of poetic material, 
Warble for has a spring poem of reminiscence. He calls it Warble for 
^'^^^^- Lilac-Tifne. He details his memories of spring, — the crisp 

Time, 

p. 299. February days, the sugar-making, the vapors, the haze, the 

sound of frogs and birds, the melted snow, the yellow-green 
willow sprouts, then the flowers of April and May, — till he 
makes those jocund days live again. To remember just 
what spring was like, most people have to await its return. 
Not so Walt Whitman. 

One bird, familiar alike to the American and the English 
spring, even Whitman does not mention, fond as he is of the 
The Crow, grotesque. The crow has been sung but little, but he would 
p. 300. i^g greatly missed if he appeared no more in the morning 

landscape. Mr. Canton pictures him as an old ungodly 
rogue, whose feathers, torn by shot, show black against the 
blue sky. He wears funereal garb, but he grins behind it. 
Suspicious that the frost is not yet gone, and still more sus- 
picious of his enemy the farmer, the crow perches alert on 
the tip of an ash tree. As his rakish eye looks round, he 
drinks in the glad morning's sun and air. 

In the spring morning landscape of England the lark plays 
a real part. We have no skylark in America, but we are so 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 



287 



familiar with the bird in poetry that it seems hke one of our 
own possessions. Still, he who hears it for the first time in 
the English sky has a new experience. He looks aloft, but 
it is poised invisible in upper air. In Shakspere's phrase, 
the lark is singing at heaven's gates. 

This is the moment when the earliest sunshine creeps 
through the lattice, plays upon the wall, and wakens the 
sleeper. He turns upon his side, and watches the light in 
its lambent beauty. This glory, that every morning comes 
stealing back, and that on every delicate morning seems 
almost divine, is the theme of Tennyson-Turner's sonnet, 
The Lattice at Sunrise. Mr. Norman Gale thinks of the 
same moment as that when God returns from his other cares 
to look at the world ; it is the light of his countenance that 
we see. Longfellow, in one of his boyish poems, finds in 
the spring sunrise on the hills the perfect look of joy, un- 
dimmed by tears. 

With spring come the showers, and with these the rain- 
bow. To Wordsworth, perhaps the greatest poet of nature, 
the rainbow always gave a thrill at the heart. In his poem 
he declares that he feels the pleasure as keenly in manhood 
as he did in childhood. He wishes that the day may never 
come when he shall cease to be stirred in the same way ; 
that the best joys of his boyhood may last into manhood ; 
that, so to speak, the child may be the father of the 
man. 

The early summer comes, with what Lowell calls " the per- 
fect days," and Emerson calls " the charmed days." Bryant, 
in a poem on June, enters into the spirit of this weather, but 
not with such jubilance as Lowell does in his praise of June, 
at the opening of Sir Launfal. Bryant hoped that his time 
to die might be in this month of months. It is interesting 
to know that his wish was granted. In June of 1878 it 
could at last be said of him, — 



Hark, 
Hark! 
the Lark ! 
p. 301. 



The Lattice 
at Sunrise, 
p. 302. 

Dawn and 
Dark, 
p. 302. 

Sunrise on 
the Hills, 
P- 303- 

My Heart 
leaps up 
when I 
Behold, 
p. 304. 



Twas One 
of the 
Charmed 
Days, 
P- 305. 

June, 
P- 305- 



288 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



p. 307- 



His part in all the pomp that fills 
The circuit of the summer hills, 
Is — that his grave is green. 

Intrinsically the dandelion is a very beautiful blossom, and 
To the if rare would be costly. Lowell's Dandelion is the flower of 
Dandelion, everybody. Lowell reads everything lovely into it, says it 
stands to him for the warm land of flowers, calls it his 
tropics and his Italy. He delights beyond expression to 
find the first blooms. They remind him of the beauty that 
might be lighted on in the natures of ordinary people, if it 
were looked for. 

Emerson is another poet who, forsaking the rose and the 
nightingale, sings of commoner flowers and birds. Note 
some of his flowers, page 311. Of the birds, he likes best 
the chickadee, the snow-bird. 

Here was this atom in full breath, 
Hurling defiance at vast death. 



The 

Humble- 
Bee, p. 309. 



It remained for Emerson to celebrate the bumblebee, 
which gets back from him its proper but less descriptive 
name, The Humble- Bee. Emerson dubs him a philosopher, 
because, though burly and dozing, he knows enough to sip 
only what is sweet. Clean and savory flowers furnish 
forth his meal, and nothing else does he regard — all else 
was picture as he passed. Emerson grows enthusiastic, and 
declares that he asks no better clime than that the humble- 
bee loves. As Lowell called a common flower his tropics, 
so Emerson calls his burly bee an animated torrid zone. 
For Emerson, the New England of this yeflow-breeched 
philosopher is good enough ; let others sail for Porto Rique 
— that is the way the poet's fancy takes liberties with 
geographic names. 

The bee is perhaps the most steadily cheerful creature in 
the landscape, but he is not the most joyful. The bird is the 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 



289 



one being that seems capable of rapturous happiness. The 
bird is therefore one of the poet's keenest dehghts, and 
never has the poet neglected to write of it. For the present, 
one or two instances must suffice. Let these instances be 
extremes — "the bird which is most like a bee" (as the 
poet Forceythe Willson says), and the bird which is most 
Hke a beast of prey. 

Eight quaint lines by the late Emily Dickinson convey an The Hum- 
impression of the humming-bird. He comes like a resonant "^'"g-^ird, 
streak of emerald and red, whirring the blossoms down as 
he passes. He is probably the morning mail from Africa. 
In contrast to this revolving wheel of color, consider Tenny- 
son's httle picture of the statuesque king of birds. How he 
catches the genius of the eagle in what he calls A Fragment! The Eagle, 
A few terse lines, if they are the work of a Tennyson, suf- ^ ^"S- 

11- ment, 

nee for an eagle : he is too sudden and too secret to be p. 312. 
pursued in a long poem up to his hidden eyry. He wheels 
unceasingly " with clang of wings," as Shelley says ; he is 
glassed in the lake — how Arnold's lines (p. 271) seize that 
moment ; he clasps the crag, near the sun, in the blue ; he 
watches ; he falls on his prey like a thunderbolt. • 

Both these birds are embodiments of swift, exulting strength, 
the one all dehcacy, the other all grandeur. We must look 
to other poems for the joy of bird-song : to those of Bryant 
and Mr. Robert Burns Wilson on the bobolink, those of Mr. 
George Meredith and Mr. William Watson on the lark, 
those of Walt Whitman and Mr. Maurice Thompson on the 
mocking-bird, and that of Lowell on the cat-bird. Mean- The Bird, 
time, a little prose rhapsody of Ruskin will give us whatever P- 312. 
impression prose can give of the fragility, the power, the 
grace, the passionate sweetness and strength of voice, the 
cloud-like, shadow-like, sky-like beauty of the bird. 

Midsummer comes, the song of birds is still, and the 
parched plains long for the cool water of rivers. " The dry 



290 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Chatta- 
hoochee, 
P- 313- 



Song of the fields burn, and the mills are to turn," sings the Chatta- 
hoochee, in Sidney Lanier's poem. The poet Lanier was 
also a musician, one of the best flute-players of his time, a 
fact which accounts for the musical quality of his verse. 
And, indeed, unless one has much music in him, he cannot 
write the music of a stream. Tennyson has caught the 
chatter of the brook in his song, The Brook. Mr. Maurice 
Thompson has suggested the flow of the lowland creek, in 
his Death of the White Hej-on. 

Bubble, bubble flows the stream, 
Like an old song through a dream. 

Lanier has turned into verse the swift rush of the mountain 
river. 

And now, in our pursuit of the advancing year, we have 
reached the dog-days. To many of us these bring sugges- 
tions of a desire for the seashore. Let us make a digres- 
sion, take a hohday, and demand of the poets a breath of 
salt air. First, remembering that we are looking for the 
cheerful side of nature, we may even dare to enjoy the 
railway journey shoreward, although Mr. Ruskin objects so 
strongly to the railway. It is almost incredible that Mr. 
Ruskin never felt the exultation of becoming, so to speak, a 
part of the landscape, as the train thundered over hill, down 
vale. Noise and smoke are occasionally as natural as sun- 
shine and the luminous quiet of evening ; the railroad train 
is a jubilant storm. Nor is it always ugly in the landscape. 
Miss Dickinson very naturally likes to see it " step around a 
pile of mountains." 

And now we may imagine ourselves to have passed that 
line of mystery, the horizon behind which lies the sea. 
There it stretches, the universe of water, always pulsing and 
always resounding. The wind that blows from it is the very 
breath of life to the sick man. Wind and wave alike are full 



The Rail- 
way Train, 
p. 315- 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 29 1 

of dark possibilities, but if no man loved to dare the wind 
and the wave, it would speak ill for our race and its future. 
For many years the English race has approved Barry Corn- 
wall's lines beginning with the buoyant cry : — 

The sea ! the sea ! the open sea ! The Sea, 

The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! ?• 316. 

The seaside has not usually given the poets an inspiration 
so cheerful as this of Barry Cornwall's. The never ceasing 
minor music of the surge has often saddened the poet's 
heart. But even Tennyson sometimes finds dehght by the 
sea, for here as elsewhere he is moved to exclamation at the 
beauty of the world. For example, he stands in wonder 
beside a shell, small and pure as a pearl. He dreams of the The shell, 
httle living will that made it stir on the shore. He is aston- P- 3i7- 
ished at its structure, which cannot bear a finger-tap, but 
which has resisted the shock and pressure of seas that break 
the three-decker's oaken spine. 

The spring and the summer are usually spoken of as the 
glad time of the year. When the north wind begins to blow 
human spirits are supposed to sink. But a stout heart 
rather enjoys the rough north wind and its promise of 
healthful cold. On this subject, Mr. W. E. Henley has a 
poem that is even exultant. The wind, he says, comes 
roaring from his spacious arctic fastnesses, and like a giant 
hunter storms down upon the sea; but the wrinkled sea. 
Old Indefatigable, merely laughs with dehght. 

With summer go the flowers. For that matter, some fade 
every day in the year. The seventeenth-century poet 
Herrick laments, — 

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 

You haste away so soon : 
As yet the early-rising Sun 

Has not attain'd his Noon. 



292 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



But that is not the normal way in which to regard flowers 

and the morning. Mr. Lang sees the grass falUng asleep 

Scythe beneath the lullaby the scythe sings to it. That is a normal 

' °"^' view. In a wise Httle book ^ recently written are the follow- 

ing words : — 

The people of Japan are passionately fond of flowers. A great 
many of their holidays are fixed by the blossoming of trees and shrubs. 
These festivals are known as flower-viewings, when everybody is 
expected to be out of doors enjoying the rich colors of the landscape. 
Thus, at a time of year when we are celebrating Washington's birthday, 
perhaps with the thermometer at zero and snow all over the ground, 
the Japanese have their plum viewing; the plum blossom being the 
first to put forth after the snow is gone. This happens commonly in 
February. In April is the cherry-viewing, in May it is the peonies 
which cause the schools to close, in August the lotus, in November the 
chrysanthemum, and these are only a part. 

Blossoms do not last forever in Japan any more than in any other 
country, and no doubt the people are sorry to see them drop and fade 
away, especially when the fruit is worthless (as in the case of the Jap- 
anese plum tree). Still, the Japanese do not have fast-days or mourn- 
ing-days when the flower-viewing is over, but go cheerfully about their 
work till the next bloomtime comes. They know that 

Leaves have their time to fall 
And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath. 

Sweet Day, That contemporary of Herrick whom they called Holy 
P?3i9°' George Herbert felt as keenly as any one the passing of 
the sweet rose, and of the sweet day, so cool, so calm, so 
bright. Yet the change did not sadden him, for, in his own 
quaint words, " the sweet and virtuous soul, like seasoned 
timber, never gives." 

Even when autumn comes, it is not necessary to regard 
The Death the fall of the leaves as a grievous thing. Bryant calls 
November "the melancholy days, the saddest of the year." 
Mr. Frank Stanton, a southern dialect poet, protests : — 

1 Wendell P Garrison's " Parables for School and Home." Longman?, 
Green, & Co. 



of the Flow- 
ers, p. 320 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 293 

These ain't the " melancholy days " — there's lots o' fun in sight; 
The cool and bracin' mornin's, an' the big oak fires at night. 

In a finer vein Whittier has the same protest in his poem 
called A Day. Listening in November to the squirrel drop- 
ping nutshells from the shagbark trees, and to the soft 
whisper of the dark green hemlocks, the poet finds a gra- 
cious beauty in the scene. He folds to his heart the mem- 
ory of " each lovely thing the sweet day yields," and, not 
disconsolate, waits with the calm patience of the woods for 
the leaf and blossom of spring. Bryant himself felt that 
November is not always to be thought of as melancholy. 

In a poem to November he says : — November, 

p. ^21, 
Yet one rich smile and we will try to bear 

The piercing winter frost, and winds, and biting air. 

November is distinctly a less agreeable month than Decem- 
ber, at least in north temperate latitudes. Snow is a cheer- 
ful thing, for what Emerson calls its " froHc architecture" TheSnow- 
gives to the landscape the charm of strangeness, and mer- Storm, 
rily shuts human beings indoors " in a tumultuous privacy 
of storm." Whittier's most poetic poem is the long idyl 
which details the cosey delights of being snow-bound. A 
young English poet of our own day, Mr. A. C. Benson, wel- 
comes the rude, rough December because it compels the Winter 

cheerful indoor life. This is the time of harvests : not those Harvests, 

p. 323. 
of golden grain, but those of song. In music and book and 

school are pleasures as real as those of woods and waters. 

SYMPATHY 

Thomas Ashe 

Is nature all so beautiful ? 

The human feeling makes it so : 

The sounds we love, the flowers we cull, 

Are hallowed with man's joy or woe. 



294 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 

The lit le speedwell's tender blue 5 

Is not so pure and delicate, 
As the simple wish in you 
That will its tardy advent wait. 

The wishing for the green of trees 

Is fresher than the leaves that come : 10 

The blowing of a scented breeze 

Is sweetest round a happy home. 

The ripple of a tranquil bay, 

The water-lisp in curve or creek, 

Are softest on the welcome day 15 

We trust to find some friend we seek. 



CHANGED VOICES 
William Watson 

Last night the sea-wind was to me 
A metaphor of liberty. 

And every wave along the beach 
A starlit music seemed to be. 

To-day the sea-wind is to me 

A fettered soul that would be free. 

And dumbly striving after speech 
The tides yearn landward painfully. 

To-morrow how shall sound for me 
The changing voice of wind and sea? 

What tidings shall be borne of each? 
What rumor of what mystery ? 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 



295 



SONG FROM PIPPA PASSES 
Robert Browning 

The year's at the spring, 

And day's at the morn; 

Morning's at seven; 

The hillside's dew-pearl'd; 

The lark's on the wing; 5 

The snail's on the thorn; 

God's in His heaven — 

All's right with the world. 

There is a charming buoyancy, elasticity, springiness about the move- 
ment of the poem, as if Pippa were dancing down the path. In what ways 
does Browning secure this effect? 



MARCH 

William Wordsworth 

• The cock is crowing, 

The stream is flowing, 

The small birds twitter. 

The lake doth glitter. 
The green field sleeps in the sun: 5 

The oldest and youngest 

Are at work with the strongest; 

The cattle are grazing. 

Their heads never raising; 
There are forty feeding like one ! 10 



2g6 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Like an army defeated, 

The snow hath retreated, 

And now doth fare ill 

On the top of the bare hill; 
The ploughboy is whooping anon, anon. 15 

There's joy in the mountains; 

There's life in the fountains; 

Small clouds are sailing, 

Blue sky prevailing; 
The rain is over and gone ! 20 



I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD 

William Wordsworth 

I wandered lonely as a cloud 

That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 

When all at once I saw a crowd, 
A host of golden daffodils; 

Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 5 

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 

And twinkle on the milky way. 
They stretch in never ending line 

Along the margin of a bay : 10 

Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced; but they 

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee : 
A poet could not but be gay 15 

In such a jocund company: 
I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 
What wealth the show to me had brought. 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 297 

For oft, when on my couch I lie 

In vacant or in pensive mood, 20 

They flash upon that inward eye 

Which is the bliss of solitude; 
And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
And dances with the daffodils. 

The best way to appreciate the fresh charm of this poem is to learn it. 
If, as is said, Mrs. Wordsworth composed the last stanza, she was more 
VVordsworthian than her husband. 



THE YELLOW VIOLET 

William Cullen Bryant 

When beechen buds begin to swell, 

And woods the bluebird's warble know, 

The yellow violet's modest bell 

Peeps from the last year's leaves below. 

Ere russet fields their green resume, 5 

Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare, 
To meet thee, when thy faint perfume 

Alone is in the virgin air. 

Of all her train, the hands of Spring 

First plant thee in the watery mould, 10 

And I have seen thee blossoming 

Beside the snow-bank's edges cold. 

Thy parent sun, who bade thee view 
Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip. 

Has bathed thee in his own bright hue, 15 

And streaked with jet thy glowing lip. 



298 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat, 

And earthward bent thy gentle eye. 
Unapt the passing view to meet. 

When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh. 20' 

Oft, in the smiless April day. 

Thy early smile has stayed my walk, 

But 'midst the gorgeous blooms of May, 
I passed thee on thy humble stalk. 

So they, who climb to wealth, forget 25 

The friends in darker fortunes tried. 

I copied them — but I regret 

That I should ape the ways of pride. 

And when again the genial hour 

Awakes the painted tribes of light, 30 

I'll not o'erlook the modest flower 

That made the woods of April bright. 

Select from this poem the two lines (consecutive or not) that seem to 
you the most musical, and tell what vowels and consonants make them so. 



THE RHODORA: 

ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE FLOWER? 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, 
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, 
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, 
To please the desert and the sluggish brook. 
The purple petals, fallen in the pool, 
Made the black water with their beauty gay; 
Here might the redbird come his plumes to cool, 
And court the flower that cheapens his array. 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 



299 



Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why 

This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, 10 

Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, 

Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: 

Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose ! 

I never thought to ask, I never knew; 

But, in my simple ignorance, suppose 15 

The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. 



WARBLE FOR LILAC-TIME 1 

Walt Whitman 

Warble me now for joy of lilac-time (returning in remi- 
niscence). 
Sort me, O tongue and lips, for Nature's sake, souvenirs of 

earliest summer, 
Gather the welcome signs (as children with pebbles or 

stringing shells). 
Put in April and May, the hylas croaking in the ponds, the 

elastic air. 
Bees, butterflies, the sparrow with its simple notes, 5 

Bluebird and darting swallow, nor forget the high-hole 

flashing his golden wings, 
The tranquil sunny haze, the clinging smoke, the vapor. 
Shimmer of waters with fish in them, the cerulean above, 
All that is jocund and sparkling, the brooks running. 
The maple woods, the crisp February days and the sugar- 
making, 10 
The robin where he hops, bright-eyed, brown-breasted, 

1 Reprinted by permission of Small, Maynard, & Co. 
4. hylas are frogs. How can air be called elastic? 5. Can anything better 
be said of a sparrow ? 8. cerulean, blue. 11. Is the robin red-breasted ? 



300 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

With musical clear call at sunrise, and again at sunset, 
Or flitting among the trees of the apple orchard, building 

the nest of his mate, 
The melted snow of March, the willow sending forth its 

yellow-green sprouts, 
For spring-time is here! the summer is here! and what is 

this in it and from it? 15 

Thou, soul, unloos'd — the restlessness after I know not what; 

Come, let us lag here no longer, let us be up and away ! 

O if one could but fly like a bird ! 

O to escape, to sail forth as in a ship ! 

To glide with thee, O soul, o'er all, in all, as a ship o'er 
the waters; 20 

Gathering these hints, the preludes, the blue sky, the grass, 
the morning drops of dew. 

The lilac-scent, the bushes with dark green heart-shaped 
leaves. 

Wood-violets, the little delicate pale blossoms called inno- 
cence, 

Samples and sorts not for themselves alone, but for their 
atmosphere, 

To grace the bush I love — to sing with the birds, 25 

A warble for joy of lilac-time, returning in reminiscence. 

What senses does the poem appeal to ? What emotions does it stir ? 



THE CROW 

William Canton 

With rakish eye and plenished crop. 
Oblivious of the farmer's gun. 

Upon the naked ash tree top 

The Crow sits basking in the sun. 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 301 

An old ungodly rogue, I wot ! 5 

For, perched in black against the blue, 

His feathers, torn with beak and shot, 
Let woful glints of April through. 

The year's new grass, and, golden-eyed, 

The daisies sparkle underneath, lo 

And chestnut trees on either side 
Have opened every ruddy sheath. 

But doubtful still of frost and snow 
The ash alone stands stark and bare, 

And on its topmost twig the Crow 15 

Takes the glad morning's sun and air. 



HARK ! HARK ! THE LARK 

William Shakspere 

Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 

And Phoebus 'gins arise. 
His steeds to water at those springs 

On chaliced flowers that lies; 
And winking Mary-buds begin , 5 

To ope their golden eyes; 
With everything that pretty bin 

My lady sweet, arise : 
Arise, arise. 

7. bin is an old form for is. 

The best thing to do with these nine charming lines is to sing them to 
Schubert's music. 



302 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



THE LATTICE AT SUNRISE 
Charles Tennyson-Turner 

As on my bed at dawn I mus'd and pray'd, 

I saw my lattice prank' d upon the wall, 

The flaunting leaves and flitting birds withal — 

A sunny phantom interlaced with shade; 

"Thanks be to heaven," in happy mood I said, ; 

"What sweeter aid my matins could befall 

Than the fair glory from the East hath made ? 

What holy sleights hath God, the Lord of all, 

To bid us feel and see ! we are not free 

To say we see not, for the glory comes k 

Nightly and daily, like the flowing sea; 

His lustre pierceth through the midnight glooms 

And, at prime hour, behold ! He follows me 

With golden shadows to my secret rooms." 

8. sleights, of course, means subtle devices. Is the paradox pleasing ? 



DAWN AND DARKi 

Norman Gale 

God with his million cares 
Went to the left or right. 
Leaving our world; and the day 
Grew light. 

1 Reprinted by permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons, the original American 
publishers of " Orchard Songs." 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 303 

Back from a sphere He came ^ 

Over a starry lawn, 
Looked at our world; and the dark 
Grew dawn. 

Is this poem a pleasant and uplifting fancy, or is it a "conceit" — that 
is, is the fancy rather far-fetched ? In deciding, do not be too much influ- 
enced by your conviction that God never leaves His world. Of course He 
does not. The question is. May we find pleasure in fancying that He goes 
and returns? 



SUNRISE ON THE HILLS 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch 
Was glorious with the sun's returning march, 
And woods were brightened, and soft gales 
Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales. 

The clouds were far beneath me; — bathed in light, 5 

They gathered mid-way round the wooded height. 
And, in their fading glory, shone 
Like hosts in battle overthrown, 
As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance. 
Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, 10 

And rocking on the cliff was left 
The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft. 
The veil of cloud was lifted, and below 
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow 
Was darkened by the forest's shade, 15 

Or glistened in the white cascade; 
Where upward, in the mellow blush of day, 
The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way. 



304 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



I heard the distant waters dash, 
I saw the current whirl and flash, — 20 

And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach, 
The woods were bending with a silent reach. 
Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell, 
The music of the village bell 

Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills; 25 

And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills. 
Was ringing to the merry shout. 
That faint and far the glen sent out, 
Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke, 
Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle broke. 30 

If thou art worn and hard beset 
With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget. 
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep 
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep. 
Go to the woods and hills ! — No tears 35 

Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. 



MY HEART LEAPS UP WHEN I BEHOLD 

William Wordsworth 

My heart leaps up when I behold 

A rainbow in the sky : 
So was it when my life began; 
So is it now I am a man; 
So be it when I shall grow old, 5 

Or let me die ! 
The Child is father of the Man; 
And I could wish my days to be 
Bound each to each by natural piety. 

What line in this poem is an epigram, and has become famous as such ? 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE oQt 

'TWAS ONE OF THE CHARMED DAYS 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 

'Twas one of the charmed days, 

When the genius of God doth flow, 

The wind may alter twenty ways, 

A tempest cannot blow; 

It may blow north, it still is warm; 5 

Or south, it still is clear; 

Or east, it smells like a clover-farm; 

Or west, no thunder fear. 

JUNE 
William Cullen Bryant 

I gazed upon the glorious sky 

And the green mountains round; 
And thought, that when I came to lie 

Within the silent ground, 
'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June, 5 

When brooks sent up a cheerful tune. 

And groves a joyous sound. 
The sexton's hand, my grave to make, 
The rich, green mountain turf should break. 

A cell within the frozen mould, 10 

A coffin borne through sleet. 
And icy clods above it rolled. 

While fierce the tempests beat — 
Away ! — I will not think of these — 
Blue be the sky and soft the breeze, 15 

Earth green beneath the feet, 
And be the damp mould gently pressed 
Into my narrow place of rest. 

X 



3o6 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 

There, through the long, long summer hours 

The golden light should lie, 20 

And thick young herbs and groups of flowers 
Stand in their beauty by. 

The oriole should build and tell 

His love-tale, close beside my cell; 

The idle butterfly 25 

Should rest him there, and there be heard 

The housewife bee and humming-bird. 

And what if cheerful shouts, at noon, 

Come from the village sent, 
Or songs of maids, beneath the moon, 30 

With fairy laughter blent? 
And what if, in the evening light, 
Betrothed lovers walk in sight 

Of my low monument? 
I would the lovely scene around 35 

Might know no sadder sight or sound. 

I know, I know I should not see 

The season's glorious show, 
Nor would its brightness shine for me, 

Nor its wild music flow; 40 

But if, around my place of sleep, 
The friends I love should come to weep, 

They might not haste to go. 
Soft airs and song, and light, and bloom, 
Should keep them lingering by my tomb. 45 

These to their softened hearts should bear 

The thought of what has been. 
And speak of one who cannot share 

The gladness of the scene; 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 



307 



Whose part, in all the pomp that fills 50 

The circuit of the summer hills, 
Is — that his grave is green; 
And deeply would their hearts rejoice 
To hear, again, his living voice. 

50-52. These lines were much admired by Edgar Poe, whose ear for 
music in poetry was very true. 



TO THE DANDELION 

James Russell Lowell 

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way, 
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, 

First pledge of blithesome May, 
Which children pluck, and, full of pride uphold. 

High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they 5 

An Eldorado in the grass have found. 

Which not the rich earth's ample round 
May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me 
Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. 

Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow 10 

Through the primeval hush of Indian seas. 

Nor wrinkled the lean brow 
Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease; 

'Tis the Spring's largess, which she scatters now 
To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand, 15 

Though most hearts never understand 
To take it at God's value, but pass by 
The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. 

6. Eldorado, a fabled land rich in gold — "golden land." 



308 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Thou art my tropics and mine Italy; 
To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime; 20 

The eyes thou givest me 
Are in the heart, and heed not space or time : 

Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee 
Feels a more summer-like warm ravishment 

In the white lily's breezy tent, 25 

His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first 
From the dark green thy yellow circles burst. 

Then think I of deep shadows on the grass, 
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze, 

Where, as the breezes pass, 30 

The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways, 
Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass, 
Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue 

That from the distance sparkle through 
Some woodland gap, and of a sky above, 35 

Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move. 

My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee; 
The sight of thee calls back the robin's song. 

Who, from the dark old tree 
Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, 40 

And I, secure in childish piety. 
Listened as if I heard an angel sing 

With news from heaven, which he could bring 
Fresh every day to my untainted ears 
When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. 45 

How like a prodigal doth nature seem, 
When thou, for all thy gold, so common art ! 

Thou teachest me to deem 
More sacredly of every human heart, 

26. Sybaris, a town in ancient Italy, famous for its luxury. 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 



309 



Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam 50 

Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show, 
Did we but pay the love we owe, 
And with a child's undoubting wisdom look 
On all these living pages of God's book. 

What is the rhyme-scheme ? How many lines in a stanza ? Which 
stanza recalls to the poet certain pictures of his boyhood, which certain 
sounds ? Is it natural that so trifling a thing as a flower should recall so 
much to one ? The first three stanzas are eminently worth learning. 



THE HUMBLE-BEE 
Ralph Waldo Emerson 

Burly, dozing humble-bee, 

Where thou art is clime for me. 

Let them sail for Porto Rique, 

Far-off heats through seas to seek; 

I will follow thee alone, 5 

Thou animated torrid zone ! 

Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer. 

Let me chase thy waving lines; 

Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, 

Singing over shrubs and vines. 10 

Insect lover of the sun, 
Joy of thy dominion ! 
Sailor of the atmosphere; 
Swimmer through the waves of air; 
Voyager of light and noon; 15 

Epicurean of June ! 

16. Epicurean should be accented on the second <?, though to do so 
here will require breaking this vowel into two syllables. The Epicureans 
were a school of Greek philosophers who believed that death ends all. 
Can you infer how the word came to be applied to those who are fond 
of dainty food ? 



2IO STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Wait, I prithee, till I come 
Within earshot of thy hum, — 
All without is martyrdom. 

When the south wind, in May days, 20 

With a net of shining haze 

Silvers the horizon wall, 

And, with softness touching all, 

Tints the human countenance 

With the color of romance, 25 

And infusing subtle heats 

Turns the sod to violets. 

Thou, in sunny solitudes. 

Rover of the underwoods. 

The green silence dost displace 30 

With thy mellow, breezy bass. 

Hot midsummer's petted crone. 

Sweet to me thy drowsy tone 

Tells of countless sunny hours, 

Long days, and solid banks of flowers; 35 

Of gulfs of sweetness without bound 

In Indian wildernesses found; 

Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, 

Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure. 

Aught unsavory or unclean 40 

Hath my insect never seen; 

But violets and bilberry bells. 

Maple sap and daffodels, 

Grass with green flag half-mast high, 

19. This is what is called hyperbole, — a poetic exaggeration. 25. There 
is no particular color of romaiice. What does Emerson mean ? 26, Is the 
sod actually turned into violets ? 38. Syrian is a pleasant word, and the 
poet probably uses it in the larger sense of Oriental; the Orientals are 
always leisurely ; they are not prompt, and cannot understand our Western 
notions of the value of time. 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 311 

Succory to match the sky, 45 

Columbine with horn of honey, 

Scented fern, and agrimony. 

Clover, catchfiy, adder' s-tongue, 

And brier-roses, dwelt among; 

All beside was unknown waste, 50 

All was picture as he passed. 

Wiser far than human seer. 

Yellow-breeched philosopher ! 

Seeing only what is fair, 

Sipping only what is sweet, 55 

Thou dost mock at fate and care. 

Leave the chaff and take the wheat. 

When the fierce northwestern blast 

Cools sea and land so far and fast, 

Thou already slumberest deep ; 60 

Woe and want thou canst outsleep; 

Want and woe, which torture us. 

Thy sleep makes ridiculous. 

50-51. In Shakspere's time (not Emerson's) waste, like vast, rhymed 
with passed. 56-57. Is the metaphor a trifle mixed? 62-63. Note 
Emerson's epigrammatic power. 

THE HUMMING-BIRD 1 

Emily Dickinson 

A route of evanescence 

With a revolving wheel ; 
A resonance of emerald, 

iFrom " Poems," Second Series, Copyright, 1891, by Roberts Bros.; now 
published by Little, Brown, & Co., Boston, and reprinted by their permission 
and that of Miss Lavinia N. Dickinson. 

I. Here route is used in the old sense, of rush. 3. Is this line truthful 
to the impression the bird gives ? 2, 4. Would it have been better not to 
rhyme these lines ? 



312 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

A rush of cochineal ; 
And every blossom on the bush 

Adjusts its tumbled head, — 
The mail from Tunis, probably, 

An easy morning's ride. 



THE EAGLE 

FRAGMENT 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

He clasps the crag with hooked hands ; 
Close to the sun in lonely lands, 
Ringed with the azure world, he stands. 

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls ; 
He watches from his mountain walls, 
And Hke a thunderbolt he falls. 



THE BIRD 
John Ruskin 

The bird is little more than a drift of the air brought 
into form by plumes ; the air is in all its quills, it breathes 
through its whole frame and flesh, and glows with air in 
its flying, like a blown flame : it rests upon the air, sub- 
dues it, surpasses it, outraces it, — is the air, conscious 
of itself, conquering itself, ruling itself. 

Also, into the throat of the bird is given the voice of 
the air. All that in the wind itself is weak, wild, useless 
in sweetness, is knit together in its song. As we may 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 



313 



imagine the wild form of the cloud closed into the 10 
perfect form of the bird's wings, so the wild voice 
of the cloud into its ordered and commanded voice; 
unwearied, rippling through the clear heaven in its glad- 
ness, interpreting all intense passion through the soft 
spring nights, bursting into acclaim and rapture of choir 15 
at daybreak, or hsping and twittering among the boughs 
and hedges through heat of day, like little winds that 
only make the cowslip bells shake, and ruffle the petals 
of the wild rose. 

Also, upon the plumes of the bird are put the colors 20 
of the air : on these the gold of the cloud, that cannot 
be gathered by any covetousness ; the rubies of the 
clouds, the vermilion of the cloud-bar, and the flame 
of the cloud-crest, and the snow of the cloud, and its 
shadow, and the melted blue of the deep wells of the sky 25 
— all these, seized by the creating spirit, and woven into 
films and threads of plume ; with wave on wave following 
and fading along breast, and throat, and opened wings, 
infinite as the dividing of the foam and the sifting of the 
sea-sand. 30 



SONG OF THE CHATTAHOOCHEE 1 
Sidney Lanier 

Out of the hills of Habersham, 
Down through the valleys of Hall, 
I hurry amain to reach the plain, 
Run the rapid and leap the fall, 
Split at the rock and together again, 

1 Reprinted by permission of Charles Scribner's Sons. 



314 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Accept my bed, or narrow or wide, 
And flee from folly on every side, 
With a lover's pain to attain the plain 

Far from the hills of Habersham, 

Far from the valleys of Hall. lo 

All down the hills of Habersham, 

All through the valleys of Hall, 
The rushes cried, "Abide, abide," 
The wilful waterweeds held me thrall, 
The loving laurel turned my tide, 15 

The ferns and the fondling grass said, " Stay," 
The dewberry dipped for to work delay, 
And the little reeds sighed, " Abide, abide," 

Here in the hills of Habersham, 

Here in the valleys of Hall. 20 

High o'er the hills of Habersham, 

Veiling the valleys of Hall, 
The hickory told me manifold 
Fair tales of shade ; the poplar tall 
Wrought me her shadowy self to hold ; 25 

The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine, 
Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign. 
Said : " Pass not so cold, these manifold 

Deep shades of the hills of Habersham, 

These glades in the valleys of Hall." 30 

And oft in the hills of Habersham, 

And oft in the valleys of Hall, 
The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook stone 
Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl ; 
And many a luminous jewel lone 35 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 



315 



(Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist, 

Ruby, garnet, or amethyst) 

Made lures with the lights of streaming stone 
In the clefts of the hills of Habersham, 
In the beds of the valleys of Hall. 40 

But oh ! not the hills of Habersham, 

And oh ! not the valleys of Hall 
Avail ; I am fain for to water the plain. 
Downward the voices of Duty call ; 
Downward to toil and be mixed with the main. 45 

The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn. 
And a myriad flowers mortally yearn, 
And the lordly main from beyond the plain 

Calls o'er the hills of Habersham, 

Calls through the valleys of Hall. 50 

The poem is distinctly worth learning. The swift melody of it is obvious. 
Is the melody obtained at the expense of thought and of pictures, or is there 
a happy blending of poetic qualities ? 



THE RAILWAY TRAIN 1 

Emily Dickinson 

I like to see it lap the miles. 

And lick the valleys up. 
And stop to feed itself at tanks ; 

And then, prodigious, step 

Around a pile of mountains, 5 

And, supercilious, peer 
In shanties by the sides of roads ; 

And then a quarry pare 

1 From "Poems,'* Second Series, Copyright, 1891, by Roberts Brothers; 
now published by Little, Brown, & Co., Boston, and reprinted by their per- 
mission and that of Miss Lavinia N. Dickinson. 



3i6 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

To fit its sides, and crawl between, 

Complaining all the while lo 

In horrid, hooting stanza ; 
Then chase itself down hill 

And neigh Hke Boanerges ; 

Then, punctual as a star, 
Stop — docile and omnipotent — 15 

At its own stable door. 

13. Boanerges, "sons of thunder." 

For what do you praise, for what adversely criticise, this poem ? 



THE SEA 
Barry Cornwall 

The sea ! the sea ! the open sea ! 

The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! 

Without a mark, without a bound. 

It runs the earth's wide regions round ; 

It plays with the clouds ; it mocks the skies, s 

Or like a cradled creature lies. 

I'm on the sea ! I'm on the sea ! 

I am where I would ever be. 

With the blue above and the blue below. 

And silence wheresoe'er I go ; 10 

If a storm should come and awake the deep, 

What matter? /shall ride and sleep. 

I love, oh ! how I love to ride 

On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide. 

When every mad wave drowns the moon, 15 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 317 

Or whistles aloud his tempest tune, 
And tells how goeth the world below, 
And why the southwest blasts do blow. 

I never was on the dull, tame shore. 

But I loved the great sea more and more, 20 

And back I flew to her billowy breast. 

Like a bird that seeks its mother's nest ; 

And a mother she was and is to me, 

For I was born on the deep blue sea ! 

And I have lived, in calm and strife, 25 

Full fifty summers a sailor's life. 

With wealth to spend and power to range. 

But never have sought or sighed for change ; 

And Death, whenever he comes to me, 

Shall come on the wild and boundless sea. 3° 



THE SHELL 
Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

See what a lovely shell. 

Small and pure as a pearl, 

Lying close to my foot. 

Frail, but a work divine, 

Made so fairily well 5 

With delicate spine and whorl, 

How exquisitely minute, 

A miracle of design ! 

What is it? A learned man 

Could give it a clumsy name. 10 

Let him name it who can. 

The beauty would be the same. 



3i8 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

The tiny cell is forlorn, 

Void of the little living will 

That made it stir on the shore. 15 

Did he stand at the diamond door 

Of his house in a rainbow frill ? 

Did he push, when he was uncurl'd, 

A golden foot or a fairy horn 

Thro' his dim water- world? 20 

Slight, to be crush' d with a tap 

Of my finger-nail on the sand, 

Small, but a work divine. 

Frail, but of force to withstand, 

Year upon year, the shock 25 

Of cataract seas that snap 

The three-decker's oaken spine 

Athwart the ledges of rock. 

Here on the Breton strand ! 

Write the rhyme-scheme of each stanza. Why is the second the short- 
est ? Are short lines better than long for a poem on a tiny shell ? Do they 
lend a certain sense of care, as if the poet paused in time, even held his 
breath, as he touched it ? 



SCYTHE SONG 

Andrew Lang 

Mowers, weary and brown and blithe, 

What is the word methinks ye know, 
Endless over-word that the scythe 

Sings to the blades of the grass below ? 
Scythes that swing in the grass and clover. 

Something, still, they say as they pass ; 
What is the word that, over and over, 

Sings the scythe to the flowers and grass? 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 



319 



Hush, ah hush, the scythes are saying, 

Hush, and heed not, and fall asleep ; zo 

Hush, they say to the grasses swaying, 

Hush, they sing to the clover deep ! 
Hush, — 'tis the lullaby Time is singing, — 

Hush, and heed not, for all things pass. 
Hush, ah hush I and the scythes are swinging 15 

Over the clover, over the grass ! 

Is there in this poem onomatopoeia, that is, deliberate imitation, by 
means of words, of some sound in nature ? 



SWEET DAY, SO COOL 

George Herbert 

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
The bridal of the earth and sky. 
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; 
For thou must die. 

Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, 5 

Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, 
Thy root is ever in its grave. 

And thou must die. 

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, 
A box where sweets compacted lie, 10 

My music shows ye have your closes, 
And all must die. 

Only a sweet and virtuous soul. 
Like season'd timber, never gives ; 
But though the whole world turn to coal, 15 

Then chiefly lives. 

5, 6. Is this a conceit ? 



220 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS 
William Cullen Bryant 

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, 
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown 

and sere. 
Heaped in the hollows of the grove the withered leaves lie 

dead ; 
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. 
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the 

jay, 5 

And from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the 
gloomy day. 

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately 

sprang and stood 
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? 
Alas ! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers 
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of 

ours. lo 

The rain is falHng where they lie, but the cold November 

rain. 
Calls not, from out the gloomy earth, the lovely ones again. 

The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago. 
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer 

glow ; 
But on the hill the goldenrod, and the aster in the wood, 15 
And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty 

stood. 
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the 

plague on men. 
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, 

glade, and glen. 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 32 1 

And now, when comes the cahn mild day, as still such days 

will come, 
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; 
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the 

trees are still, 21 

And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill. 
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late 

he bore. 
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no 

more. 

And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, 25 
The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side : 
In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the 

leaf. 
And we wept that one so lovely should have a hfe so brief: 
Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of 

ours. 
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. 30 



NOVEMBER 

William Cullen Bryant 

Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun ! 

One mellow smile through the soft vapory air, 
Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds run. 

Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare. 
One smile on the brown hills and naked trees, 5 

And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast. 
And the blue Gentian flower, that, in the breeze, 

Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last. 
Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee 

Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the way, lo 

Y 



322 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



The cricket chirp upon the russet lea, 

And man dehght to linger in thy ray. 
Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear 
The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air. 



THE SNOW-STORM 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, 
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, 
Seems nowhere to alight : the whited air 
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heavens, 
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end. s 

The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet 
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit 
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed 
In a tumultuous privacy of storm. 

Come see the north wind's masonry. lo 

Out of an unseen quarry evermore 
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer 
Curves his white bastions with projected roof 
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door. 
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work 15 

So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he 
For number or proportion. Mockingly, 
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths ; 
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn ; 
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, 20 

Maugre the farmer's sighs; and, at the gate, 

3. Is this line faithful to the appearance of nature? 1-9. These lines 
would be worth learning, were it only for the condensation of phrase in the 
ninth. 18. Parian marble was the whitest and finest known to the ancients. 
Our shops are full of a cheap imitation stone that unfortunately goes by 
this famous name. 21. Maugre is an old French word, meaning in spite of. 



THE MORNING LANDSCAPE 



323 



A tapering turret overtops the work. 

And when his hours are numbered, and the world 

Is all his own, retiring, as he were not, 

Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art 25 

To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone, 

Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work, 

The frolic architecture of the snow. 



WINTER HARVESTS 1 

Arthur Christopher Benson 

Pipe, winds of winter. 

O'er the hill's cold brow. 
Shatter and splinter 

The dying, dying bough j 

Brim the icy river, 5 

Let the dead reeds shake ; 
Make the wild swan shiver 

In her northern lake. 

O'er the empty cover 

Bid the brown hawk swing, 10 

Send the wailing plover. 

Southward to the spring. 

I do not fear thee. 

Wind, harsh and shrill. 
Rather let me hear thee 15 

Thunder in the hill. 

1 Reprinted from " Lord Vyet and Other Poems," by permission of 
Mr. John Lane. 



324 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Rude, rough December, 

Thine be all the earth, 
So the ruddy ember 

Rustle on the hearth. 20 

When the shadow beckons, 

Home, and bar the door ; 
Then the poet reckons 

All his summer store ; 

Coins his gathered gladness 25 

Into ringing rhyme. 
Hugs his merry madness, 

'Tis his harvest time. 



Plan of Summary. — Reviewing the chapter, (i) enumerate the 
kinds of metre, designating them by the number of accents, and by the 
predominant foot. Then (2) say which poem is most noticeable for mel- 
ody; (3) which for beauty of suggested sights; (4) which for pleasure 
of suggested sounds; (5) which for pleasure of suggested activity; 
(6) which for pleasure of suggested odors or tastes; (7) which is most 
easily understood; (8) which moves the reader most deeply ; (9) which 
shows most skill in character drawing; (10) which has the best unity; 

(11) which, your critical judgment tells you, is the best piece of work; 

(12) which you like the best, without regard to its deserved rank, or 
its fame. 



CHAPTER VIII 

THE GENTLEMAN 

The word which stands at the head of this chapter is a 
curious example of how language changes its meaning. 
Gentile is from Latin gentilis, " belonging to the same clan." 
The early Christians fell into the Jewish habit of calling all 
but themselves gentiles, Christianity first spread among 
the peasants, the poor of the earth. As time went on and 
almost all the poor embraced the new religion, the only 
gentiles left were the rich nobles. After a while, there- 
fore, gentile meant little more than noble77ian. Finally 
even these gentiles became Christians, their native breed- 
ing developed into a nobler and finer behavior, and gentile 
came to mean gentle in the modern sense. In the sixteenth 
century the playwright Dekker could speak of Christ as the 
first gentleman without suggesting gentile to any one. Yet 
it remains true that men are often called gentlemen merely 
because they happen to be high born. 

With such a history the gentleman has long been before 
the world of letters. In Shakspere the necessity of being 
really gentle if high born is often asserted; it is the 
French doctrine of noblesse oblige. In our own time John Of Vulgar- 
Ruskin has found it impossible to write on art without de- ^^^' ^' ^^^' 
fining to himself the difference between gentlemanliness 
and vulgarity, for some artists have the one quality and 
some the other. In the course of a chapter on Vulgarity, in 
his "Modern Painters," Ruskin analyzes at some length the 
nature of the gentleman. Like Shakspere he throws great 
weight on good breeding, even in the sense that a horse 

325 



326 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



The 

Young 
Montagu, 
P- 343- 



Tact, 
P- 345- 



Two Gen- 
tlemen at 
Petersburg, 
p. 346. 



The 

Gentleman, 
P- 349. 



or dog is well bred. Blood will tell, even in a chimney- 
sweep; an old story to this effect has been rehearsed by 
Charles Lamb. And Perdita, in Shakspere's Winter'' s Taie, 
proves by her acts that if a shepherd lass is a princess in 
disguise she behaves like the king's daughter. It is only 
by being of pure race that a man can develop into the fine- 
ness of fibre and feeling which distinguishes the courtier 
from the clown. Sensitiveness to impression, — this is a 
prime condition of gentlemanly conduct, and this is exactly 
what the badly bred peasant lacks. The peasant's skin is 
thick, callous. To be thin-skinned, in the better sense, is 
what makes men alive to the rights of their fellows. 
"Tact" means sense of touch; and tact, according to 
Emerson, will work wonders when all else fails. 

Breeding shows itself in the unerring emphasis that the 
gentleman lays upon the really important matters of cour- 
tesy. An ill-bred man is often punctilious about some 
absurd form, thinking that the observance of this shows 
great knowledge of how things should be done. Not so 
the two gentlemen whom Mr. Eggleston tells about. 
Though officers of opposing armies, the one was severely 
honorable in surrendering a captain who had offended 
against the letter of the truce-law, the other equally hon- 
orable in refusing to punish this captain for a mere 
inadvertence. 

The real test of gentlemanliness lies deeper than forms. 
One may obey all the forms and yet be counted what the 
English call a "cad," that is, an unmanly, selfish, egotistic 
bore. According to Cardinal Newman, it is almost a defi- 
nition of a gentleman to say that he is one who never in- 
flicts pain. Kindliness and consideration are qualities 
that depend on a knowledge neither of etiquette nor of the 
newest fashions in dress. 

That a man may be boorish in satins or in shirt-sleeves 



THE GENTLEMAN ^2 7 

is exhibited in two selections in this chapter. Shakspere's 
delicate irony impales, like a fly on a pin, the exquisite A Fop, 
v/ho came to Hotspur in the battlefield, and smiled and ^' •^^^* 
talked and took snuff while dead men were carried by. 
Mr. Eggleston tells a delightful story of how the Southern 
cavalry leader, Stuart, enforced his objections to a sol- A Breach 
dier's appearing in shirt-sleeves at table before ladies. °^^^^" 

^^ ° quette, 

Contrast with Shakspere's fop and Mr. Eggleston' s slouches p. 353. 
a true gentleman of the battlefield, Bret Harte's John 
Burns of Gettysburg. The old beau was dressed in the 
style of a hundred years since, and yet as he stood immov- 
able there, picking the rebels off, the gleam of his old 
white hat afar rallied the very boys who had mocked 
him. 

In war or peace, the gentleman is often a hero. His 
sense of humane courtesy may be so highly developed that 
the gentleman must some day choose between obeying it 
and losing his life. This is the sublime alternative which 
Mr. Henry Newbolt celebrates in a poem on Craven, the 
hero of Mobile Bay. When only one of two men can pass 
through a door alive, because there is only a second of 
time to do it in, the man that says "After you" (as Cap- 
tain Craven did) must pay for it with his life. The other 
man may be as brave at heart; but it is the trained gen- 
tleman who speaks first and ends the situation. 

Certain forms of gentlemanliness which may almost be 
called heroic, are found among savage or half-civilized 
races. The Arab will protect with his life the guest who 
has eaten his salt. The North American Indian, as Remarks 
Franklin has pointed out, will not under any provocation ^heSavagS 
interrupt another when speaking. In China the laws of of North 
Confucius forbid a son to approach his father closely p™!r^^ ' 
without permission. 

According to Dr. Theodore Munger, the foundation of 



328 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Om4r and 
the Per- 
sian, p. 362. 



The Octo- 
pus of the 
Golden 
Isle, p. 364. 



the gentlemanly character is truth. ^ Thus, the story told 
by Sarah Williams, of how the warrior Omar kept his word 
to a guest, when to do so was against all traditions of war, 
belongs here rather than in the preceding chapter on war. 
The Persian captive was brought before the victor Omar 
and told that he must die. The captive thirsted for a cup 
of wine. It was brought him, but he hesitated to drink it, 
fearing poison. This touched the victor's pride, and he 
assured the Persian that his life was safe from poison; nay, 
it was safe from all harm until he should have slaked his 
thirst. The Persian smiled and poured the wine upon the 
ground. At this ruse a shout arose that he should be slain. 
But Omar rose to the occasion. "Hold! if there be a 
sacred thing, it is the warrior's word." 

One mark of the gentleman is freedom from envy. He 
is alert to recognize merit even in the friend who outstrips 
him in a race. The "rooter" who cheers when the other 
team makes a false play does an ungentlemanly thing. The 
critic who, as Pope says of Addison, "damns with faint 
praise " the work of his rival reveals the vulgarity of envy. 
How vigorously Mr. Theodore Watts-Dunton scores this 
evil in his allegory of the Octopus ! 

Between Shakspere's time and Tennyson's, English lit- 
erature has many portraits of gentlemen. In the early 
eighteenth century, Steele sketched the character of Sir 
Roger de Coverley, and his friend Addison completed the 
picture. Sir Roger is the ideal country gentleman who 
has a care for all his dependents. Goldsmith, a little later, 
created Beau Tibbs, the gentleman whose cheerful good 
manners never fail, though he may owe his family a meal. 
Early in our own century, Scott gave us his Lord Evandale, 
his Guy Mannering, and many another prince of courtesy. 



1 " On the Threshold." 



THE GENTLEMAN 



329 



Tennyson wrote a long cycle of poems on the death of 
his friend Hallam, whose exceptional breeding was re- 
marked by all who knew him — by Gladstone, for instance. 
The one hundred and eleventh poem of In Me77ioriani The Churl 
concerns Arthur's gentlemanliness. The poet declares ^" Spirit, 
that the man who is churlish in spirit cannot hide the fact, 
though he be by blood a king. But Hallam was finer in 
grain than anything he could do; was more than all the 
gentleness he seemed to be. Whatever he did, he seemed 
perfectly natural, wholly himself. Yet he joined in all the 
social life around him, to which he brought the flower of 
noble manners without touch of narrowness or spite. And 
thus he bore without abuse the grand old name of gentleman. 

To Thackeray the name of gentleman seemed one of the 
noblest. His Colonel Newcome is one of the gracious fig- 
ures that cannot be spared from literature. Thackeray 
closed one of his books with a poem called The End of the The End 
Play. The author represents himself as an actor after a ° ^.^ ^^' 
performance. He bids his audience good night, remem- 
bering that they, too, have parts to play, in real life. He 
wishes them well, but, whatever may betide, wishes them 
to be superior to their fate. The race is not always to the 
swift, any more in life than in school. Not all can win, 
but all can accept their fate like gentlemen. 



OF VULGARITY 

John Ruskin 

I. Two great errors, coloring, or rather discoloring, 
severally, the minds of the higher and lower classes, have 
sown wide dissension, and wider misfortune, through the 
society of modern days. These errors are in our modes 
of interpreting the word "gentleman." 



330 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Its primal, literal, and perpetual meaning is "a man 
of pure race"; well bred, in the sense that a horse or 
dog is well bred. 

The so-called higher classes, being generally of purer 
race than the lower, have retained the true idea, and the lo 
convictions associated with it; but are afraid to speak it 
out, and equivocate about it in public; this equivoca- 
tion mainly proceeding from their desire to connect 
another meaning with it, and a false one; — that of "a 
man living in idleness on other people's labor "; — with 15 
which idea, the term has nothing whatever to do. 

The lower classes, denying vigorously, and with reason, 
the notion that a gentleman means an idler, and rightly 
feeling that the more any one works, the more of a gen- 
tleman he becomes, and is likely to become, — have 20 
nevertheless got little of the good they otherwise might, 
from the truth, because, with it, they wanted to hold a 
falsehood, — namely, that race was of no consequence. 
It being precisely of as much consequence in man as it 
is in any other animal. 25 

2. The nation cannot truly prosper till both these 
errors are finally got quit of. Gentlemen have to learn 
that it is no part of their duty or privilege to live on 
other people's toil. They have to learn that there is no 
degradation in the hardest manual, or the humblest ser- 30 
vile, labor, when it is honest. But that there is degra- 
dation, and that deep, in extravagance, in bribery, in 
indolence, in pride, in taking places they are not fit for, 
or in coining places for which there is no need. It 
does not disgrace a gentleman to become an errand boy, 35 
or a day laborer; but it disgraces him much to become 
a knave, or a thief. And knavery is not the less knavery 
because it involves large interests, nor theft the less 
theft because it is countenanced by usage, or accom- 



THE GENTLEMAN 



331 



panied by failure in undertaken duty. It is an incom- 40 
parably less guilty form of robbery to cut a purse out of 
a man's pocket, than to take it out of his hand on the 
understanding that you are to steer his ship up channel, 
when you do not know the soundings. 

3. On the other hand, the lower orders, and all orders, 45 
have to learn that every vicious habit and chronic disease 
communicates itself by descent; and that by purity of 
birth the entire system of the human body and soul may 
be gradually elevated, or by recklessness of birth, 
degraded; until there shall be as much difference 50 
between the well-bred and ill-bred human creature 
(whatever pains be taken with their education) as 
between a wolf-hound and the vilest mongrel cur. And 
the knowledge of this great fact ought to regulate the 
education of our youth, and the entire conduct of the 55 
nation. 

4. Gentlemanliness, however, in ordinary parlance, 
must be taken to signify those qualities which are usually 
the evidence of high breeding, and which, so far as they 
can be acquired, it should be every man's effort to 60 
acquire; or, if he has them by nature, to preserve and 
exalt. Vulgarity, on the other hand, will signify quali- 
ties usually characteristic of ill-breeding which, accord- 
ing to his power, it becomes every person's duty to 
subdue. We have briefly to note what these are. 65 

5. A gentleman's first characteristic is that fineness 
of structure in the body, which renders it capable of the 
most delicate sensation; and of structure in the mind 
which renders it capable of the most delicate sympa- 
thies — one may say, simply, "fineness of nature." 70 
This is, of course, compatible with heroic bodily strength 
and mental firmness; in fact, heroic strength is not 
conceivable without such delicacy. Elephantine strength 



332 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



may drive its way through a forest and feel no touch of 
the boughs; but the white skin of Homer's Atrides 75 
would have felt a bent rose-leaf, yet subdue its feeling 
in glow of battle, and behave itself like iron. I do not 
mean to call an elephant a vulgar animal; but if you 
think about him carefully you will find that his non- 
vulgarity consists in such gentleness as is possible to go 
elephantine nature ; not in his insensitive hide, nor in 
his clumsy foot; but in the way he will lift his foot if 
a child lies in his way; and in his sensitive trunk, and 
still more sensitive mind, and capability of pique on 
points of honor. 85 

6. And, though rightness of moral conduct is ulti- 
mately the great purifier of race, the sign of nobleness 
is not in this rightness of moral conduct, but in sensi- 
tiveness. When the make of the creature is fine, its 
temptations are strong, as well as its perceptions; it is 90 
liable to all kinds of impressions from without in their 
most violent form; liable therefore to be abused and 
hurt by all kinds of rough things which would do a 
coarser creature little harm, and thus to fall into fright- 
ful wrong if its fate will have it so. Thus David, 95 
coming of gentlest as well as royalest race, of Ruth as 
well as of Judah, is sensitiveness through all flesh and 
spirit; not that his compassion will restrain him from 
murder when his terror urges him to it; nay, he is 
driven to the murder all the more by his sensitiveness 100 
to the shame which otherwise threatens him. But when 
his own story is told him under a disguise, though only 
a lamb is now concerned, his passion about it leaves 
him no time for thought. "The man shall die " — note 
the reason — " because he had no pity." He is so eager 105 
and indignant that it never occurs to him as strange that 
Nathan hides the name. This is true gentleman. A 



THE GENTLEMAN 



333 



vulgar man would assuredly have been cautious, and 
asked "who it was? " 

7. Hence it will follow that one of the probable signs no 
of high-breeding in men generally, will be their kind- 
ness and mercifulness; these always indicating more or 
less fineness of make in the mind; and miserliness and 
cruelty the contrary; hence that of Isaiah: "The vile 
person shall no more be called liberal, nor the churl said 115 
to be bountiful." But a thousand things may prevent 
this kindness from displaying or continuing itself; the 
mind of the man may be warped so as to bear mainly on 
his own interests, and then all his sensibilities will take 
the form of pride, or fastidiousness, or revengefulness; 120 
and other wicked, but not ungentlemanly tempers; or, 
further, they may run into utter sensuality and covet- 
ousness, if he is bent on pleasure, accompanied with 
quite infinite cruelty when the pride is wounded, or the 
passions thwarted; — until your gentleman becomes 125 
Ezzelin, and your lady, the deadly Lucrece; yet still 
gentleman and lady, quite incapable of making any- 
thing else of themselves, being so born. 

8. A truer sign of breeding than mere kindness is 
therefore sympathy; a vulgar man may often be kind in 130 
a hard way, on principle, and because he thinks he 
ought to be; whereas, a highly bred man, even when 
cruel, will be cruel in a softer way, understanding and 
feeling what he inflicts, and pitying his victim. Only 
we must carefully remember that the quality of sym- 135 
pathy a gentleman feels can never be judged of by its 
outward expression, for another of his chief character- 
istics is apparent reserve. I say "apparent" reserve; 

126. Ezzelin, a character in Byron's Lara, treacherous, revengeful, and 
cruel. Lucrece, Lucretia Borgia, an Italian duchess of the early sixteenth 
century, famous as a poisoner. 



334 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



for the sympathy is real, but the reserve not : a perfect 
gentleman is never reserved, but sweetly and entirely 140 
open, so far as it is good for others, or possible that he 
should be. In a great many respects it is impossible 
that he should be open except to men of his own kind. 
To them, he can open himself, by a word, or syllable, 
or a glance; but to men not of his kind he cannot open 145 
himself, though he tried it through an eternity of clear 
grammatical speech. By the very acuteness of his sym- 
pathy he knows how much of himself he can give to 
anybody; and he gives that much frankly; — would 
always be glad to give more if he could, but is obliged, 150 
nevertheless, in his general intercourse with the world, 
to be a somewhat silent person; silence is to most 
people, he finds, less reserved than speech. Whatever 
he said, a vulgar man would misinterpret: no words 
that he could use would bear the same sense to the vui- 155 
gar man that they do to him; if he used any, the vulgar 
man would go away saying, " He had said so and so, 
and meant so and so " (something assuredly he never 
meant) ; but he keeps silence, and the vulgar man goes 
away saying, "He didn't know what to make of him." 160 
Which is precisely the fact, and the only fact which he 
is anywise able to announce to the vulgar man con- 
cerning himself. 

9. There is yet another quite as efficient cause of the 
apparent reserve of a gentleman. His sensibility being 165 
constant and intelligent, it will be seldom that a feeling 
touches him, however acutely, but it has touched him 
in the same way often before, and in some sort is touch- 
ing him always. It is not that he feels little, but that he 
feels habitually; a vulgar man having some heart at the 170 
bottom of him, if you can by talk or by sight fairly force 
the pathos of anything down to his heart, will be excited 



THE GENTLEMAN 335 

about it and demonstrative; the sensation of pity being 
strange to him, and wonderful. But your gentleman 
has v/alked in pity all day long; the tears have never 175 
been out of his eyes : you thought the eyes were bright 
only; but they were wet. You tell him a sorrowful 
story, and his countenance does not change; the eyes 
can but be wet still; he does not speak neither, there 
being, in fact, nothing to be said, only something to be 180 
done; some vulgar person, beside you both, goes away 
saying, " How hard he is !" Next day he hears that the 
hard person has put good end to the sorrow he said 
nothing about; — and then he changes his wonder and, 
exclaims, "How reserved he is! " 185 

10. Self-command is often thought a characteristic of 
high-breeding : and to a certain extent it is so, at least 
it is one of the means of forming and strengthening char- 
acter; but it is rather a way of imitating a gentleman 
than a characteristic of him; a true gentleman has no 190 
need of self-command; he simply feels rightly on all 
occasions : and desiring to express only so much of his 
feeling as it is right to express, does not need to com- 
mand himself. Hence perfect ease is indeed charac- 
teristic of him; but perfect ease is inconsistent with 195 
self-restraint. Nevertheless gentlemen, so far as they 
fail of their own ideal, need to command themselves, 
and do so; while, on the contrary, to feel unwisely, and 
to be unable to restrain the expression of the unwise 
feeling is vulgarity; and yet even then, the vulgarity, 200 
at its root, is not in the mistimed expression, but in the 
unseemly feeling; and when we find fault with a vulgar 
person for "exposing himself," it is not his openness, 
but clumsiness; and yet more the want of sensibility to 
his own failure, which we blame; so that still the vul- 205 
garity resolves itself into want of sensibility. Also, it 



336 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



is to be noted that great powers of self-restraint may be 
attained by very vulgar persons, when it suits their 
purposes. 

11. Closely, but strangely, connected with this open- 210 
ness is that form of truthfulness which is opposed to 
cunning, yet not opposed to falsity absolute. And 
herein is a distinction of great importance. 

Cunning signifies especially a habit or gift of over- 
reaching, accompanied with enjoyment and a sense of 215 
superiority. It is associated with small and dull con- 
ceit, and with an absolute want of sympathy or affec- 
tion. Its essential connection with vulgarity may be at 
once exemplified by the expression of the butcher's dog 
in Landseer's "Low Life." Cruikshank's "Noah Clay- 220 
pole," in the illustrations to "Oliver Twist," in the inter- 
view with the Jew, is, however, still more characteristic. 
It is the intensest rendering of vulgarity absolute and 
utter with which I am acquainted. 

The truthfulness which is opposed to cunning ought, 225 
perhaps, rather to be called the desire of truthfulness; 
it consists more in unwillingness to deceive than in not 
deceiving, — an unwillingness implying sympathy with 
and respect for the person deceived; and a fond observ- 
ance of truth up to the possible point, as in a good 230 
soldier's mode of retaining his honor through a ruse-de- 
guerre. A cunning person seeks for opportunities to 
deceive; a gentleman shuns them. A cunning person 
triumphs in deceiving; a gentleman is humiliated by 
his success, or at least by so much of the success as is 235 
dependent merely on the falsehood, and not on his 
intellectual superiority. 

12. The absolute disdain of all lying belongs rather 
to Christian chivalry than to mere high breeding; as 

231. ruse-de-guerre, French for ruse of war. 



THE GENTLEMAN 



337 



connected merely with this latter, and with general 240 
refinement and courage, the exact relations of truthful- 
ness may be best studied in the well-trained Greek 
mind. The Greeks believed that mercy and truth were 
co-relative virtues — cruelty and falsehood co-relative 
vices. But they did not call necessary severity, cruelty; 245 
nor necessary deception, falsehood. It was needful 
sometimes to slay men, and sometimes to deceive them. 
When this had to be done, it should be done well and 
thoroughly ; so that to direct a spear well to its mark, or 
a lie well to its end, was equally the accomplishment of 250 
a perfect gentleman. Hence, in the pretty diamond- 
cut-diamond scene between Pallas and Ulysses, when 
she receives him on the coast of Ithaca, the goddess 
laughs delightedly at her hero's good lying, and gives 
him her hand upon it; showing herself then in her 255 
woman's form, as just a little more than his match. 
"Subtle would he be, and stealthy, who should go 
beyond thee in deceit, even were he a god, thou many- 
witted ! What ! here in thine own land, too, wilt thou 
not cease from cheating? Knowest thou not me, Pallas 260 
Athena, maid of Jove, who am with thee in all thy 
labors, and gave thee favor with the Phaeacians, and 
keep thee, and have come now to weave cunning with 
thee?" But how completely this kind of cunning was 
looked upon as a part of a man's power, and not as a 265 
diminution of faithfulness, is perhaps best shown by the 
single line of praise in which the high qualities of his 
servant are summed up by Chremulus in the Plutus — 
" Of all my house servants, I hold you to be the faith- 
fullest, and the greatest cheat (or thief)." 270 

13. Thus, the primal difference between honorable 
and base lying in the Greek mind lay in honorable pur- 
pose. A man who used his strength wantonly to hurt 
z 



338 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

others was a monster; so, also, a man who used his 
cunning wantonly to hurt others. Strength and cunning 275 
were to be used only in self-defence, or to save the 
weak, and then were alike admirable. This was their 
first idea. Then the second, and perhaps the more 
essential, difference between noble and ignoble lying in 
the Greek mind, was that the honorable lie — or, if we 280 
may use the strange, yet just expression, the true lie — 
knew and confessed itself for such — was ready to take 
the full responsibility of what it did. As the sword 
answered for its blow, so the lie for its snare. But what 
the Greeks hated with all their heart was the false lie; 285 
the lie that did not know itself, feared to confess itself, 
which slunk to its aim under a cloak of truth, and sought 
to do liars' work, and yet not take liars' pay, excusing 
itself to the conscience by quibble and quirk. Hence 
the great expression of Jesuit principle by Euripides, 290 
"The tongue has sworn, but not the heart," was a sub- 
ject of execration throughout Greece, and the satirists 
exhausted their arrows on it — no audience was ever 
tired hearing (to Evptu-LSeiov UCivo) "that Euripidean 
thing " brought to shame. 295 

14. And this is especially to be insisted on in the 
early education of young people. It should be pointed 
out to them with continual earnestness that the essence 
of lying is in deception, not in words; a lie may be told 
by silence, by equivocation, by the accent on a syllable, 3°° 
by a glance of the eye attaching a peculiar significance 
to a sentence; and all these kinds of lies are worse and 



290. Jesuit. The Society of Jesus, founded by Loyola in the sixteenth 
century, did a great deal of good and a great deal of harm. Jesuitical is 
sometimes used to mean hypocritical, because the Jesuits believed that lying 
is excusable if it accomplishes good. Euripides, a Greek tragic poet, born 
480 B.C. 



THE GENTLEMAN 



339 



baser by many degrees than a lie plainly worded; so 
that no form of blinded conscience is so far sunk as that 
which comforts itself for having deceived, because the 305 
deception was by gesture or silence, instead of utterance; 
and, finally, according to Tennyson's deep and tren- 
chant line, '' A lie which is half a truth is ever the worst 
of lies." 

15. Although, however, ungenerous cunning is usually 310 
so distinct an outward manifestation of vulgarity, that 

I name it separately from insensibility, it is in truth 
only an effect of insensibility, producing want of affec- 
tion to others, and blindness to the beauty of truth. 
The degree in which political subtlety in men such as 315 
Richelieu, Machiavel, or Metternich, will efface the 
gentleman, depends on the selfishness of political pur- 
pose to which the cunning is directed, and on the base 
delight taken in its use. The command, " Be ye wise 
as serpents, harmless as doves," is the ultimate expres- 320 
sion of this principle, misunderstood usually because 
the word "wise" is referred to the intellectual power 
instead of the subtlety of the serpent. The serpent has 
very little intellectual power, but according to that 
which it has, it is yet, as of old, the subtlest of the beasts 325 
of the field. 

16. Another great sign of vulgarity is also, when 
traced to its root, another phase of insensibility, namely, 
the undue regard to appearances and manners, as in the 
households of vulgar persons, of all stations, and the 330 
assumption of behavior, language, or dress unsuited to 
them, by persons in inferior stations of life. I say 

316. Richelieu, born 1585, was the famous cardinal who ruled France 
under Louis XIII. Machiavel, Machiavelli, b. 1469, was a Florentine 
writer on the art of politics. Metternich, b. 1773, was the diplomatist on 
whom Francis I. of Austria depended. 



340 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



"undue" regard to appearances, because in the undue- 
ness consists, of course, the vulgarity. It is due and 
wise in some sort to care for appearances, in another 335 
sort undue and unwise. Wherein lies the difference? 

At first one is apt to answer quickly : the vulgarity is 
simply in pretending to be what you are not. But that 
answer will not stand. A queen may dress like a wait- 
ing maid, — perhaps succeed, if she chooses, in passing 340 
for one; but she will not, therefore, be vulgar; nay, a 
waiting maid may dress like a queen, and pretend to 
be one, and yet need not be vulgar, unless there is 
inherent vulgarity in her. In Scribe's very absurd but 
very amusing "Reined'unjour," a milliner's girl sustains 345 
the part of a queen for a day. She several times amazes 
and disgusts her courtiers by her straightforwardness; 
and once or twice very nearly betrays herself to her 
maids of honor by an unqueenly knowledge of sewing; 
but she is not in the least vulgar, for she is sensitive, 350 
simple, and generous, and a queen could be no more. 

17. Is the vulgarity, then, only in trying to play a 
part you cannot play, so as to be continually detected ? 
No; a bad amateur actor may be continually detected 
in his part, but yet continually detected to be a gentle- 355 
man : a vulgar regard to appearances has nothing in it 
necessarily of hypocrisy. You shall know a man not to 
be a gentleman by the perfect and neat pronunciation of 
his words : but he does not pretend to pronounce accu- 
rately; he does pronounce accurately, the vulgarity is in 360 
the real (not assumed) scrupulousness. 

18. It will be found on further thought, that a vulgar 
regard for appearances is, primarily, a selfish one, 
resulting, not out of a wish to give pleasure (as a wife's 
wish to make herself beautiful for her husband), but out 365 
of an endeavor to mortify others, or attract for pride's 



THE GENTLEMAN 34 1 

sake; — the common "keeping up appearances" of 
society, being a mere selfish struggle of the vain with 
the vain. But the deepest stain of the vulgarity depends 
on this being done, not selfishly only, but stupidly, with- 370 
out understanding the impression which is really pro- 
duced nor the relations of importance between oneself 
and others, so as to suppose that their attention is fixed 
upon us, when we are in reality ciphers in their eyes — 
all which comes of insensibility. Hence pride simple 375 
is not vulgar (the looking down on others because of 
their true inferiority to us), nor vanity simple (the desire 
of praise), but conceit simple (the attribution to our- 
selves of qualities we have not), is always so. In cases 
of over-studied pronunciation, etc., there is insensi-380 
bility, first, in the person's thinking more of himself 
than of what he is saying; and, secondly, in his not 
having musical fineness of ear enough to feel that his 
talking is uneasy and strained. 

19. Finally, vulgarity is indicated by coarseness of 385 
language or manners, only so far as this coarseness had 
been contracted under circumstances not necessarily 
producing it. The illiterateness of a Spanish or Cala- 
brian peasant is not vulgar, because they had never an 
opportunity of acquiring letters; but the illiterateness 390 
of an English school-boy is. . . . 

20. So also of personal defects, those only are vulgar 
which imply insensibility or dissipation. 

There is no vulgarity in the emaciation of Don Quixote, 
the deformity of the Black Dwarf, or the corpulence of 395 
Falstaff j but much in the same personal characters, as 
they are seen in Uriah Heep, Quilp, and Chadband. 

395. The Black Dwarf is a character in Scott's novel of the same 
name. 397. Uriah Heep, Quilp, and Chadband are vulgar characters drawn 
by Dickens. 



342 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



21. One of the most curious minor questions in this 
matter is respecting the vulgarity of excessive neatness, 
complicating itself with inquiries into the distinction 400 
between base neatness, and the perfectness of good 
execution in the fine arts. It will be found on final 
thought that precision and exquisiteness of arrangement 
are always noble; but become vulgar only when they 
arise from an equality (insensibility) of temperament, 405 
which is incapable of fine passion, and is set ignobly, 
and with a dullard mechanism, on accuracy in vile 
things. In the finest Greek coins, the letters of the 
inscriptions are purposely coarse and rude, while the 
relievi are wrought with inestimable care. But in an 410 
English coin, the letters are the best done, and the whole 

is unredeemably vulgar. In a picture of Titian's, an 
inserted inscription will be complete in the lettering, as 
all the rest is; because it costs Titian very little more 
trouble to draw rightly than wrongly, and in him, there- 415 
fore, impatience with the letters would be vulgar, as in the 
Greek sculptor of the coin, patience would have been. 
For the engraving of a letter accurately is difificult work, 
and his time must have been unworthily thrown away. 

22. All the different impressions connected with 420 
negligence or foulness depend, in like manner, on the 
degree of insensibility implied. Disorder in a drawing- 
room is vulgar, in an antiquary's study, not; the black 
battle-stain on a soldier's face is not vulgar, but the 
dirty face of a housemaid is. 425 

And lastly, courage, so far as it is a sign of race, is 
peculiarly the mark of a gentleman or a lady : but it 
becomes vulgar if rude or insensitive, while timidity is 
not vulgar, if it be a characteristic of race or fineness 
of make. A fawn is not vulgar in being timid, nor a 430 
crocodile "gentle " because courageous. 



THE GENTLEMAN 



343 



23. Without following the inquiry into further detail, 
we may conclude that vulgarity consists in a deadness 
of the heart and body, resulting from prolonged, and 
especially from inherited conditions of "degeneracy, "435 
or literally "un-racing"; — gentlemanliness being 
another word for an intense humanity. And vulgarity 
shows itself primarily in dulness of heart, not in rage 
or cruelty, but in inability to feel or conceive noble 
character or emotion. This is its essential, pure, and 44c 
most fatal form. Dulness of bodily sense and general 
stupidity, with such forms of crime as peculiarly issue 
from stupidity, are its material manifestation. 

THE YOUNG MONTAGU 
Charles Lamb 

Yet must I confess, that from the mouth of a true 

sweep a display (even to ostentation) of those white and 

shining ossifications, strikes me as an agreeable anomaly 

in manners, and an allowable piece of foppery. It is, as 

when 5 

A sable cloud 

Turns forth her silver lining on the night. 

It is like some remnant of gentry not quite extinct ; a 
badge of better days ; a hint of nobility — and, doubtless, 
under the obscuring darkness and double night of their 10 
forlorn disguisement, oftentimes lurketh good blood and 
gentle conditions, derived from lost ancestry and a lapsed 
pedigree. The premature apprenticements of these ten- 
der victims give but too much encouragement, I fear, to 
clandestine and almost infantile abductions ; the seeds 15 
of civility and true courtesy, so often discernible in these 
young grafts (not otherwise to be accounted for), plainly 



344 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



hint at some forced adoptions ; many noble Rachels, 
mourning for their children even in our days, counte- 
nance the fact ; the tales of fairy- spiriting may shadow 20 
a lamentable verity, and the recovery of the young Mon- 
tagu be but a solitary instance of good fortune out of 
many irreparable and hopeless defiliations. 

In one of the state beds at Arundel Castle, a few years 
since — under a ducal canopy — (that seat of the How- 25 
ards is an object of curiosity to visitors, chiefly for its 
beds, in which the late duke was especially a connois- 
seur) — encircled with curtains of delicatest crimson, with 
starry coronets inwoven — was discovered by chance, after 
all methods of search had failed, at noonday, fast asleep, 30 
a lost chimney-sweeper. The little creature, having some- 
how confounded his passage among the intricacies of those 
lordly chimneys, by some unknown aperture had alighted 
upon this magnificent chamber ; and, tired with his tedious 
explorations, was unable to resist the delicious invitement 35 
to repose which he there saw exhibited ; so creeping 
between the sheets very quietly, laid his black head upon 
the pillow, and slept like a young Howard. 

Such is the account given to the visitors at the Castle. 
But I cannot help seeming to perceive a confirmation of 40 
what I have just hinted at in this story. A high instinct 
was at work in the case, or I am mistaken. Is it probable 
that a poor child of that description, with whatever weari- 
ness he might be visited, would have ventured, under such 
a penalty as he would be taught to expect, to uncover the 45 
sheets of a duke's bed, and deliberately to lay himself 
down between them, when the rug or the carpet pre- 
sented an obvious couch, still far above his pretensions 
— is this probable, I would ask, if the great power of 

23. defiliations, a word of Lamb's impromptu coinage, to mean the loss 
of children by kidnapping. 



THE GENTLEMAN 



345 



nature, which I contend for, had not been manifested 50 
within him, prompting to the adventure ? Doubtless this 
young nobleman (for such my mind misgives me that he 
must be) was allured by some memory, not amounting to 
full consciousness, of his condition in infancy, when he 
was used to be lapped by his mother, or his nurse, in just 55 
such sheets as he there found, into which he was now 
but creeping back as into his proper Incunabula and 
resting-place. By no other theory than by this sentiment 
of a preexistent state (as I may call it) can I explain a 
deed so venturous, and indeed upon any other system so 60 
indecorous, in this tender, but unseasonable, sleeper. 

Is the diction modern or archaic ? Lamb's favodte authors were those 
of Shakspere's time, and he was fond of a partly serious, partly playful, use 
of pompous terms, in imitation of the prose writers of the sixteenth and 
seventeenth centuries. 

TACT 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 

What boots it, thy virtue, 
' What profit thy parts. 

While one thing thou lackest, — 
I The art of all arts ? 

The only credentials, 5 

Passport to success ; 
Opens castle and parlor, — 

Address, man. Address. 

The maiden in danger 

Was saved by the swain j 10 

His stout arm restored her 

To Broadway again. 

2. Parts is an old expression for natural abilities. 5, 7. Note the ellip- 
sis; address is (credentials), then address (opens). 



346 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

The maid would reward him, — 

Gay company come, — 
They laugh, she laughs with them ; . 15 

He is moonstruck and dumb. 

This clinches the bargain ; 

Sails out of the bay ; 
Gets the vote in the senate. 

Spite of Webster and Clay. 20 

Has for genius no mercy, 

For speeches no heed ; 
It lurks in the eyebeam, 

Its leaps to its deed. 

Church, market, and tavern, 25 

Bed and board, it will sway. • 

It has no to-morrow, 
It ends with to-day. 

18. Perhaps this means that but for the tact that clinches bargains, 
there would be no commerce ; every ship that sets sail means so much 
tact. 23. Is this true ? Can the eye say things that the tongue cannot ? 
24. That is, tact comes in play when something must be done quickly, as 
when danger is averted by a tactful answer made instantly. 



TWO GENTLEMEN AT PETERSBURG 
George Gary Eggleston 

At that point where the great mine was blown up at 
Petersburg, the lines of the two armies were within fifty 
yards of each other. 

In the fearful slaughter that ensued, the space between 
the rival breastworks was literally piled high with dead 



THE GENTLEMAN 



347 



men, lying one on top of the other. Only in one other 
place, namely, at Cold Harbor, was there ever so much 
of slaughter within so small a space. 

It was evident, apart from all considerations of decency, 
that for the comfort of both sides some arrangement must lo 
be made for the burial of these dead men. Neither side 
could have lived long in its works otherwise. 

Accordingly, a cartel was arranged between General 
Grant and General Lee. It was stipulated that there 
should be a cessation of hostilities for a specified num- 15 
ber of hours for the purpose of burying the dead. 

It was arranged that two lines should be formed twelve 
feet apart in the middle of the space between the works ; 
that one Hne should be composed of Federal sentinels, 
the other of Confederates ; that the space between these 20 
two lines should be a neutral ground, accessible to both 
sides j but that no person from either side should cross 
the line established by the other side. It was agreed 
that the dead men who had fallen within the Confeder- 
ate Hne should be dragged to the neutral ground by Con- 25 
federate soldiers, and there delivered to Federal troops 
to be carried within their lines for burial. 

There were no Confederate dead there, of course. All 
of our men who had been killed were killed within our 
own works. So every corpse on our side of the neutral 30 
ground was dragged by a rope to that common space 
and there delivered to its official friends. 

It was specially stipulated in the cartel that no officer 
or soldier on either side should take advantage of the 
truce to appropriate property of any kind lying upon the 35 
field, whether upon the one or the other side of the neu- 
tral ground. Swords, pistols, sashes, everything of the 
kind must, by agreement, be left precisely where they 
were. 



348 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Many of us, of course, went out to the neutral ground 40 
to look over the situation. There was a certain grue- 
some delight even in standing upon ground, where for 
a month or more it had been impossible for a twig or 
a blade of grass to grow without instant decapitation, and 
where for months to come it would be equally impossible 45 
for anything having material substance to exist. The very 
turf itself had been literally skinned from the surface of 
the earth by a continuous scything of bullets. For a 
month it had been impossible for any soldier on either 
side even to shoot over the breastworks, for he who tried 50 
to do so was sure to be instantly destroyed. The fire on 
either side had to be through carefully sand-bag-guarded 
port-holes. And even the port-holes had to be protected 
by hanging blankets behind them to conceal the sky, lest 
their darkening by a human head should invite a hail- 55 
storm of alert and waiting bullets. 

Of course every man who, during the truce, wandered 
over this perilous space for an hour, must have been 
impressed, if he had any imagination at all, with the 
historical interest of the occasion. Every one desired 60 
naturally to carry away some memento of the event. 
Only one man yielded to this impulse, and he did so 
thoughtlessly. He was a captain of Confederate 
infantry. 

He saw lying on the ground a star that had been cut 65 
by a bullet from some officer's coat collar. 

It was a worthless bawble, valuable only as a souvenir. 
He picked it up and pocketed it. Instantly he was 
arrested by the Confederate guards and taken before the 
officer in command of the Confederate line. 70 

That officer immediately and with great dignity went . 
to the Federal commander and said : " I desire under 
the terms of the cartel to surrender this officer to you 



THE GENTLEMAN 



349 



for such punishment as a court-martial of your army may 
see fit to inflict. He has violated the cartel." 75 

"What has he done?" asked the Federal officer. 

" He has taken possession of property left upon the 
field, contrary to the terms of the truce." 

"Would you mind telUng me," asked the Federal offi- 
cer, "the exact nature and extent of his offence?" so 

A little explanation followed, the Confederate com- 
mander remaining stern and uncompromising in his 
determination to deliver the man for punishment, asking 
no favors or mercies for him, and off'ering no apologies 
for that which he deemed a breach of honor. 85 

When the Federal officer had learned the exact facts 
of the situation, he made the usual military salute and 
said to the Confederate commander : " I thank you. 
You have been very honorable and very punctilious, but 
the officer's fault has been merely one of inadvertence. 90 
I beg to return him to you with the assurance that we 
have no desire to punish so brave a man as he must be, 
in order to hold his commission in your army, for an act 
that involved no intention of wrong." 

Here were two brave men — two gentlemen — met. 95 
Naturally they understood each other. 

Examine the paragraphing of this story, and say what paragraphs might 
be combined. 

THE GENTLEMAN 
John Henry, Cardinal Newman 

Hence it is that it is almost a definition of a gentle- 
man to say he is one who never inflicts pain. This 
description is both refined and, as far as it goes, accurate. 
He is mainly occupied in merely removing the obstacles 
which hinder the free and unembarrassed action of those 5 



350 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



about him ; and he concurs with their movements rather 
than takes the initiative himself. His benefits may be 
considered as parallel to what are called comforts or 
conveniences in arrangements of a personal nature : like 
an easy-chair or a good fire, which do their part in dis- lo 
pelling cold and fatigue, though nature provides both 
means of rest and animal heat without them. The true 
gentleman in hke manner carefully avoids whatever may 
cause a jar or a jolt in the minds of those with whom he 
is cast ; — all clashing of opinion, or collision of feeling, 15 
all restraint, or suspicion, or gloom, or resentment ; his 
great concern being to make every one at their ease and 
at home. He has his eyes on all his company ; he is 
tender towards the bashful, gentle towards the distant, 
and merciful towards the absurd ; he can recollect to 20 
whom he is speaking ; he guards against unseasonable 
allusions, or topics which may irritate ; he is seldom 
prominent in conversation, and never wearisome. He 
makes hght of favors while he does them, and seems to 
be receiving when he is conferring. He never speaks of 25 
himself except when compelled, never defends himself 
by a mere retort, he has no ears for slander or gossip, 
is scrupulous in imputing motives to those who interfere 
with him, and interprets everything for the best. He 
is never mean or little in his disputes, never takes unfair 30 
advantage, never mistakes personaHties or sharp sayings 
for arguments, or insinuates evil which he dare not say 
out. From a long-sighted prudence, he observes the 
maxim of the ancient sage, that we should ever conduct 
ourselves towards our enemy as if he were one day to be 35 
our friend. He has too much good sense to be affronted 
at insults, he is too well employed to remember injuries, 
and too indolent to bear malice. He is patient, forbear- 
ing, and resigned, on philosophical principles ; he sub- 



THE GENTLEMAN 



351 



mits to pain, because it is inevitable, to bereavement, 40 
because it is irreparable, and to death, because it is 
his destiny. If he engages in controversy of any kind, 
his disciplined intellect preserves him from the blun- 
dering discourtesy of better, perhaps, but less educated 
minds ; who, like blunt weapons, tear and hack instead 45 
of cutting clean, who mistake the point in argument, 
waste their strength on trifles, misconceive their adver- 
sary, and leave the question more involved than they find 
it. He may be right or wrong in his opinion, but he is 
too clear-headed to be unjust ; he is as simple as he 50 
is forcible, and as brief as he is decisive. Nowhere 
shall we find greater candor, consideration, indulgence : 
he throws himself into the minds of his opponents, he 
accounts for their mistakes. 



A FOP 

William Shakspere 

Hotspur. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 

But I remember, when the fight was done, 

When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil. 

Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword. 

Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dressed, 5 

Fresh as a bridgroom; and his chin, new reaped. 

Showed like a stubble-land at harvest-home; 

He was perfumed like a milliner; 

And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 

A pouncet-box, which ever and anon 10 

He gave his nose, and took't away again; — 

3. Note the old accent of ex'treme. 6-7. Is this a humorous hyperbole? 
9. pouncet-box, a box for powder or perfume. 



2^2 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Who therewith angry, when it next came there, 

Took it in snuff: — and still he smiled and talked; 

And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by. 

He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly, 15 

To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 

Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 

With many holiday and lady terms 

He questioned me; among the rest demanded 

My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. 20 

I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold. 

To be so pestered with a popinjay. 

Out of my grief and my impatience. 

Answered neglectingly, I know not what; 

He should, or he should not; — for he made me mad 25 

To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet. 

And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman, 

Of guns, and drums, and wounds (God save the mark !), 

And telling me, the sovereign' st thing on earth 

Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise; 30 

And that it was great pity, so it was. 

That villanous saltpetre should be digged 

Out of the bowels of the harmless earth. 

Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed 

So cowardly; and but for these vile guns, " 35 

He would himself have been a soldier. 



13. To take in snuff means, of course, to be angry ; but see how Shak- 
spere pleases his whim by using the words at once in their original and 
in their derived sense, when he is talking of the original function. 25. Is 
mad correctly intended, or does the good Shakspere nod? That is, does 
mad here really mean oiit of his mind with rage, or has Shakspere been 
caught napping? 28. God save the tnark/ is a sarcastic exclamation, as 
if Hotspur should say, " This popinjay talks about wounds ! Heaven 
preserve us ! What does he know about wounds? " Philologists are not 
sure of the origin of the expression (which is still common). Perhaps it 
originally referred to the target, iu shooting. 



THE GENTLEMAN 



353 



This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, 

I answered indirectly, as I said; 

And I beseech you, let not his report 

Come current for an accusation, 40 

Betwixt my love and your high majesty. 

Henry IV. 

37. The unjointed is clear: the fop's talk was rambling, incoherent. 
Bald is harder, but probably means merely that the popinjay spoke his 
mind rather too freely and rudely. Bald expressions are those which lack 
the covering of courtesy. 



• A BREACH OF ETIQUETTE 
George Gary Eggleston 

We had marched nearly all night, in order to join Jeb 
Stuart at the time appointed. This was in the early 
summer of 1861. 

We regarded ourselves with more or less of self-pity, 
as sleep-sacrificing heroes, who were clearly entitled to 5 
a full day's rest. 

Jeb Stuart didn't look at it in that way at all. He 
was a soldier, while we were just beginning to learn how 
to be soldiers. These things make a difference. 

We hadn't got our tents pitched when he ordered us out 10 
for a scouting expedition under his personal command. 

Our army lay at Winchester. The enemy was at Mar- 
tinsburg, twenty-two miles away. Stuart, with his four 
or five hundred horsemen, lay at Bunker Hill, about 
half-way between but a little nearer to the enemy than to 15 
his supports. That was always Stuart's way. 

In our scouting expedition that day, we had two or 
three "brushes" with the enemy — "just to get us used 
to it," Stuart said. 

Finally we went near to Martinsburg, and came upon 20 

2A 



354 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



a farmhouse. The farm gave no appearance of being a 
large one, or one more than ordinarily prosperous, yet 
we saw through the open door a dozen or fifteen " farm 
hands" eating dinner, all of them in their shirt-sleeves. 

Stuart rode up, with a few of us at his back, to make 25 
inquiries, and we dismounted. Just then a slip of a 
girl, — not over fourteen, I should say, — accompanied 
by a thick-set, young bull-dog, with an abnormal 
development of teeth, ran up to us. 

She distinctly and unmistakably ^^ sicked ^^ that dog upon 30 
us. But as the beast assailed us, the young girl ran after 
hifn and restrained his ardor by throwing her arms around 
his neck. As she did so, she kept repeating in a low but 
very insistent tone to us : " Make 'em put their coats on ! 
Make 'em put their coats on ! Make 'em put their coats 35 
on!" 

Stuart was a peculiarly ready person. He said not 
one word to the young girl as she led her dog away, but 
with a word or two he directed a dozen or so of us to 
follow him with cocked carbines into the dining room. 40 
There he said to the "farm hands": "Don't you know 
that a gentleman never dines without his coat? Aren't 
you ashamed of yourselves? And ladies present, too! 
Get up and put on your coats, every man jack of you, 
or I'll riddle you with bullets in five seconds." 45 

They sprang first of all into the hallway, where they 
had left their arms; but either the bull-dog or the four- 
teen-year-old girl had taken care of that. The arms 
were gone. Then seeing the carbines levelled, they 
made a hasty search of the hiding-places in which they 50 
had bestowed their coats. A minute later they appeared 
as fully uniformed, but helplessly unarmed Pennsylvania 
volunteers. 

They were prisoners of war at once, without even an 



THE GENTLEMAN 



355 



opportunity to finish that good dinner. As we left the 55 
house the young girl came up to Stuart and said : " Don't 
say anything about itj but the dog wouldn't have bit 
you. He knows which side we're on in this war." 

As we rode away, this young girl — she of the bull-dog 
— cried out: "To think the wretches made us give 'em 60 
dinner ! And in their shirt-sleeves, too ! " 

Criticise the paragraphing of this story, and suggest improvements. 



REMARKS CONCERNING THE SAVAGES OF 
NORTH AMERICA 

Benjamin Franklin 

Savages we call them, because their manners differ 
from ours, which we think the perfection of civility; 
they think the same of theirs. 

Perhaps, if we could examine the manners of different 
nations with impartiality, we should find no people so 5 
rude as to be without any rules of politeness; or none 
so polite as not to have some remains of rudeness. 

The Indian men, when young, are hunters and war- 
riors; when old, counsellors; for all their government is 
by the counsel or advice of the sages. There is no 10 
force, there are no prisons, no officers to compel obedi- 
ence or inflict punishment. Hence they generally study 
oratory, the best speaker having the most influence. 
The Indian women till the ground, dress the food, nurse 
and bring up the children, and preserve and hand down 15 
to posterity the memory of public transactions. These 
employments of men and women are accounted natural 
and honorable. Having few artificial wants, they have 
abundance of leisure for improvement by conversation. 
Our laborious manner of life, compared with theirs, 20 



356 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



they esteem slavish and base and the learning on 
which we value ourselves they regard as frivolous and 
useless. An instance of this occurred at the treaty of 
Lancaster, in Pennsylvania, anno 1744, between the 
government of Virginia and the Six Nations. After -the 25 
principal business was settled, the commissioners from 
Virginia acquainted the Indians by a speech, that there 
was at Williamsburg a college, with a fund for educating 
Indian youth; and that, if the chiefs of the Six Nations 
would send down half a dozen of their sons to that col- 30 
lege, the government would take care that they should 
be well provided for, and instructed in all the learning 
of the white people. It is one of the Indian rules of 
politeness not to answer a public proposition the same 
day that it is made; they think this would be treating 35 
it as a light matter, and that they show it respect by 
taking time to consider it, as of a matter important. 
They therefore deferred their answer till the day follow- 
ing, when their speaker began by expressing their deep 
sense of the kindness of the Virginia government in 40 
making them that offer; "for we know," says he, "that 
you highly esteem the kind of learning taught in those 
colleges, and that the maintenance of our young men, 
while with you, would be very expensive to you. We 
are convinced, therefore, that you mean to do us good 45 
by your proposal, and we thank you heartily. But you, 
who are wise, must know that different nations have dif- 
ferent conceptions of things; and you will therefore not 
take it amiss if our ideas of this kind of education hap- 
pen not to be the same with yours. We have had some 50 
experience of it. Several of our young people were 
formerly brought up at the colleges of the northern 
provinces; they were instructed in all your sciences; but, 
when they came back to us, they were bad runners. 



THE GENTLEMAN 



357 



ignorant of every means of living in the woods, unable 55 
to bear either cold or hunger, knew neither how to build 
a cabin, take a deer, nor kill an enemy, spoke our 
language imperfectly; were therefore neither fit for 
hunters, warriors, nor counsellors; they were therefore 
totally good for nothing. We are however not the less 60 
obliged by your kind offer, though we decline accepting 
it; and, to show our grateful sense of it, if the gentle- 
men of Virginia will send us a dozen of their sons, we 
will take great care of their education, instruct them in 
all we know, and make men of them." 65 

Having frequent occasions to hold councils, they have 
acquired great order and decency in conducting them. 
The old men sit in the foremost ranks, the warriors in 
the next, and the women and children in the hindmost. 
The business of the women is to take exact notice of 70 
what passes, imprint it in their memories (for they have 
no writing), and communicate it to their children. 
They are the records of the council, and they preserve the 
tradition of the stipulations in treaties a hundred years 
back; which, when we compare with our writings, we 75 
always find exact. He that would speak rises. The 
rest observe a profound silence. When he has finished 
and sits down, they leave him five or six minutes to 
recollect that, if he has omitted anything he intended to 
say, or has anything to add, he may rise again and deliver so 
it. To interrupt another, even in common conversation, 
is reckoned highly indecent. How different this is from 
the conduct of a polite British House of Commons, 
where scarce a day passes without some confusion that 
makes the speaker hoarse calling to order; and how ^ 
different from the mode of conversation in many polite 
companies of Europe, where, if you do not deliver your 
sentence with great rapidity, you are cut off in the 



358 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



middle of it by the impatient loquacity of those you 
converse with, and never suffered to finish it ! go 

The politeness of these savages in conversation is 
indeed carried to excess, since it does not permit them 
to contradict or deny the truth of what is asserted in 
their presence. By this means they indeed avoid dis- 
putes; but then it becomes difficult to know their 95 
minds, or what impression you make upon them. The 
missionaries who have attempted to convert them to 
Christianity all complain of this as one of the great 
difficulties of their mission. The Indians hear with 
patience the truths of the Gospel explained to them, 100 
and give their usual tokens of assent and approbation. 
You would think they were convinced. No such matter. 
It is mere civility. 

A Swedish minister, having assembled the chiefs of 
the Susquehanna Indians, made a sermon to them, ac- 105 
quainting them with the principal historical facts on 
which our religion is founded, such as the fall of our 
first parents by eating an apple, the coming of Christ to 
repair the mischief, his miracles and suffering, etc. 
When he had finished, an Indian orator stood up to no 
thank him. "What you have told us," says he, "is all 
very good. It is indeed bad to eat apples. It is better 
to make them all into cider. We are much obliged by 
your kindness in coming so far to tell us those things 
which you have heard from your mothers. In return, 1 115 
will tell you some of those we have heard from ours. 
*In the beginning, our fathers had only the flesh of ani- 
mals to subsist on, and if their hunting was unsuccessful 
they were starving. Two of our young hunters, having 
killed a deer, made a fire in the woods to boil some 120 
parts of it. When they were about to satisfy their 
hunger, they beheld a beautiful young woman descend . 



THE GENTLEMAN 



359 



from the clouds and seat herself on that hill which you 
see yonder among the Blue Mountains. They said to 
each other, " It is a spirit, that perhaps has smelt our 125 
broiling venison and wishes to eat of it; let us offer some 
to her." They presented her with the tongue; she was 
pleased with the taste of it, and said: ''Your kindness 
shall be rewarded; come to this place after thirteen 
moons, and you will find something that will be of great 130 
benefit in nourishing you and your children to the latest 
generations." They did so, and, to their surprise, found 
plants they had never seen before, but which, from that 
ancient time, have been constantly cultivated among us 
to our great advantage. Where her right hand had 135 
touched the ground, they found maize; where her left 
had touched it, they found kidney-beans.' " The 
good missionary, disgusted with this idle tale, said : 
" What I delivered to you were sacred truths ; but what 
you tell me is mere fable, fiction, and falsehood." The 140 
Indian, offended, replied : " My brother, it seems your 
friends have not done you justice in your education; 
they have not well instructed you in the rules of com- 
mon civility. You saw that we, who understand and 
practise those rules, believed all your stories; why do 145 
you refuse to believe ours? " 

When any of them come into our towns, our people are 
apt to crowd them, gaze upon them, and incommode 
them where they desire to be private; this they esteem 
great rudeness, and the effect of the want of instruction 150 
in the rules of civility and good manners. "We have," 
say they, " as much curiosity as you, and when you come 
into our towns we wish for opportunities of looking at 
you; but for this purpose we hide ourselves behind 
bushes where you are to pass, and never intrude ourselves 155 
into your company." 



36o 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Their manner of entering one another's village has 
likewise its rules. It is reckoned uncivil in travelling 
strangers to enter a village abruptly without giving notice 
of their approach. Therefore, as soon as they arrive i6o 
within hearing they stop and hollow, remaining there 
until invited to enter. Two old men usually come out 
to them and lead them in. There is in every village a 
vacant dwelling, called the stra7igers^ house. Here they 
are placed, while the old men go round from hut to hut 165 
acquainting the inhabitants that strangers are arrived, 
who are probably hungry and weary; and everyone sends 
them what he can spare of victuals, and skins to repose 
on. When the strangers are refreshed, pipes and tobacco 
are brought, and then, but not before, conversation 170 
begins, with inquiries who they are, whither bound, 
what news, etc. ; and it usually ends with offers of ser- 
vice, if the strangers have occasion for guides, or any 
necessaries for continuing their journey; and nothing 
is exacted for the entertainment. 175 

The same hospitality, esteemed among them as a prin- 
cipal virtue, is practised by private persons, of which 
Conrad Weiser, our interpreter, gave me the following 
instance. He had been naturalized among the Six 
Nations, and spoke well the Mohawk language. In 180 
going through the Indian country to carry a message 
from our governor to the council at Onondaga, he called 
at the habitation of Canassetego, an old acquaintance, 
who embraced him, spread furs for him to sit on, and 
placed before him some boiled beans and venison, and 185 
mixed some rum and water for his drink. When he was 
well refreshed, and had lit his pipe, Canassetego began 
to converse with him ; asked him how he had fared the 
many years since they had seen each other, whence he 
then came, what occasioned the journey, etc. Conrad 190 



THE GENTLEMAN 



361 



answered all his questions; and when the discourse 
began to flag, the Indian, to continue it, said: "Con- 
rad, you have lived long among the white people, and 
know something of their customs. I have been some- 
times at Albany, and have observed that once in seven 195 
days they shut up their shops and assemble all in the 
great house. Tell me what it is for? What do they do 
there ? " " They meet there, " says Conrad, " to hear and 
\Q2im good things. ^^ "I do not doubt," says the Indian, 
" that they tell you so — they have told me the same ; 200 
but I doubt the truth of what they say, and I will tell 
you my reasons. I went lately to Albany to sell my 
skins and buy blankets, knives, powder, rum, etc. You 
know I used generally to deal with Hans Hanson; but 
I was a little inclined this time to try some other mer- 205 
chants. However, I called first upon Hans, and asked 
him what he would give for beaver. He said he could 
not give anymore than four shillings a pound; 'but,' 
says he, 'I cannot talk on business now: this is the day 
when we meet together to learn good things, and I am 210 
going to meeting.' So I thought to myself, 'Since I 
cannot do any business to-day, I may as well go to the 
meeting too,' and I went with him. There stood up a 
man in black, and began to talk to the people very 
angrily. I did not understand what he said, but, per- 215 
ceiving that he looked much at me and at Hanson, I 
imagined he was angry at seeing me there; so I went 
out, sat down near the house, struck fire and lit my pipe, 
waiting till the meeting should break up. I thought, 
too, that the man had mentioned something of beaver, 220 
and I suspected it might be the subject of their meet- 
ing. So, when they came out, I accosted my merchant. 
'Well, Hans,' says I, 'I hope you have agreed to give 
more than four shillings a pound.' 'No,' says he; 'I 



362 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

cannot give so much; I cannot give more than three 225 
shillings and sixpence.' I then spoke to several dealers, 
but they all sung the same song, — three and sixpence, 
— three and sixpence. This made it clear to me that 
my suspicion was right; and that, whatever they pre- 
tended of meeting to learn good things, the real purpose 230 
was to consult how to cheat Indians in the price of 
beaver. Consider but a little, Conrad, and you must 
be of my opinion. If they met so often to learn good 
things, they would certainly have learned some before 
this time. But they are still ignorant. You know our 235 
practice. If a white man, in travelling through our 
country, enters one of our cabins, we all treat him as I 
do you : we dry him if he is wet, we warm him if he 
is cold, and give him meat and drink, that he may allay 
his thirst and hunger, and we spread soft furs for him 240 
to rest and sleep on. We demand nothing in return. 
But, if I go into a white man's house at Albany and ask 
for victuals and drink, they say, 'Where is your 
money?' and if I have none, they say, 'Get out, you 
Indian dog ! ' You see they have not learned those little 245 
good things that we need no meetings to be instructed 
in, because our mothers taught them to us when we were 
children; and therefore it is impossible their meetings 
should be, as they say, for any such purpose, or have 
any such effect; they are only to contrive the cheating of 2^0 
Indians in the price of beaver J^^ 

OMAR AND THE PERSIAN 
Sarah Williams 

The victor stood beside the spoil, and by the grinning dead : 
"The land is ours, the foe is ours, now rest, my men," he 
said. 



THE GENTLEMAN 



363 



But while he spoke there came a band of foot-sore, panting 

men: 
" The latest prisoner, my lord, we took him in the glen. 
And left behind dead hostages that we would come again." 5 

The victor spoke: "Thou, Persian dog! hast cost more 

lives than thine. 
That was thy will, and thou shouldst die full thrice, if I 

had mine. 
Dost know thy fate, thy just reward?" The Persian bent 

his head, 
"I know both sides of victory, and only grieve," he said, 
"Because there will be none to fight 'gainst thee when I am 

dead. 10 

" No Persian faints at sight of Death, — we know his face 

too well, — 
He waits for us on mountain side, in town, or shelter' d 

dell; 
But I crave a cup of wine, thy first and latest boon. 
For I have gone three days athirst, and fear lest I may 

swoon, 
Or even wrong mine enemy, by dying now, too soon." 15 

The cup was brought; but ere he drank the Persian 

shudder' d white. 
Omar replied, "What fearest thou? The wine is clear and 

bright; 
We are no poisoners, not we, nor traitors to a guest. 
No dart behind, nor dart within, shall pierce thy gallant 

breast ; 
Till thou hast drain' d the draught, O foe, thou dost in 

safety rest." 20 

The Persian smil'd, with parched lips, upon the foemen 

round, 



3^4 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Then pour'd the precious liquid out, untasted, on the 

ground. 
"Till that is drunk, I live," said he, "and while I live, I 

fight; 
So, see you to your victory, for 'tis undone this night; 
Omar the worthy, battle fair is but thy godlike right." 25 

Upsprang a wrathful army then, — Omar restrain' d them 

all. 
Upon no battlefield had rung more clear his martial call. 
The dead men's hair beside his feet as by a breeze was 

stirr'd. 
The farthest henchman in the camp the noble mandate 

heard : 
"Hold! if there be a sacred thing, it is the warrior's 

word." 30 



THE OCTOPUS OF THE GOLDEN ISLES 1 

Theodore Watts-Dunton 
" What ! Will they even strike at me ? " 

Round many an Isle of Song, in seas serene. 
With many a swimmer strove the poet-boy. 
Yet strove in love : their strength, I say, was joy 

To him, my friend — dear friend of godlike mien ! 

But soon he felt beneath the billowy green 5 

A monster moving — moving to destroy : 
Limb after limb became the tortured toy 

Of coils that clung and lips that stung unseen. 

1 Reprinted from " The Coming of Love, and Other Poems," by permis- 
sion of Mr. John Lane. 



THE GENTLEMAN 365 

"And cari'st thou strike ev'n me ? " the swimmer said, 
As rose above the waves the deadly eyes, 10 

Arms flecked with mouths that hissed in hellish wise, 

Quivering in hate around a hateful head. — 
I saw him fight old Envy's sorceries: 

I saw him sink : the man I loved is dead ! 

Does this sonnet, like the former one by the same author, break natu- 
rally into the octave and the sestet, devoting each to a distinct phase of the 
theme? 



THE CHURL IN SPIRIT 
Alfred, Lord Tennyson 

The churl in spirit, up or down 

Along the scale of ranks, thro' all, 
To him who grasps a golden ball, 

By blood a king, at heart a clown; 

The churl in spirit, howe'er he veil 5 

His want in forms for fashion's sake, 
Will let his coltish nature break 

At seasons thro' the gilded pale : 

For who can always act? but he, 

To whom a thousand memories call, 10 

Not being less but more than all 

The gentleness he seem'd to be. 

Best seem'd the thing he was, and join'd 

Each office of the social hour 

To noble manners, as the flower 15 

And native growth of noble mind; 

3. The student will perhaps remember statues of Roman emperors 
holding in the hand a sphere, signifying the earth. 



366 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Nor ever narrowness or spite, 
Or villain fancy fleeting by, 
Drew in the expression of an eye, 

Where God and Nature met in light; 20 

And thus he bore without abuse 

The grand old name of gentleman, 
Defamed by every charlatan. 

And soil'd with all ignoble use. 

In what other poem appeared the same rhyme-scheme? Tennyson made 
this stanza famous. 



THE END OF THE PLAY 
William Makepeace Thackeray 

The play is done — the curtain drops, 

Slow falling to the prompter's bell; 
A moment yet the actor stops. 

And looks around, to say farewell. 
It is an irksome word and task; 5 

And, when he's laugh 'd and said his say, 
He shows, as he removes the mask, 

A face that's anything but gay. 

One word, ere yet the evening ends : 

Let's close it with a parting rhyme, 10 

And pledge a hand to all young friends, 

As fits the merry Christmas time; 
On life's wide scene you, too, have parts. 

That fate ere long shall bid you play; 
Good-night ! — with honest gentle hearts 15 

A kindly greeting go alway ! 



THE GENTLEMAN ^^y 

Good-night! — I'd say the griefs, the joys, 

Just hinted in this mimic page, 
The triumphs and defeats of boys, 

Are but repeated in our age; 20 

I'd say your woes were not less keen, 

Your hopes more vain, than those of men, 
Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen 

At forty-five played o'er again. 



25 



I'd say we suffer and we strive 

Not less nor more as men than boys. 
With grizzled beards at forty-five, 

As erst at twelve in corduroys. 
And if, in time of sacred youth. 

We learn 'd at home to love and pray, 30 

Pray Heaven that early love a,nd truth 

May never wholly pass away. 

And in the world, as in the school, 

I'd say how fate may change and shift, — 
The prize be sometimes with the fool, 35 

The race not always to the swift; 
The strong may yield, the good may fall. 

The great man be a vulgar clown, 
The knave be lifted over all. 

The kind cast pitilessly down. 40 

Who knows the inscrutable design? 

Blessed be He who took and gave ! 
Why should your mother, Charles, not mine. 

Be weeping at her darling's grave? 

27. How old was Thackeray when he died? See the Chronological 
Table. 



368 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 

We bow to Heaven that will'd it so, 45 

That darkly rules the fate of all, 
That sends the respite or the blow, 

That's free to give or to recall. 



So shall each mourn, in life's advance. 

Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely kill'd, 50 
Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance. 

And longing passion unfulfiU'd. 
Amen ! — whatever fate be sent. 

Pray God the heart may kindly glow. 
Although the head with cares be bent, 55 

And whiten'd with the winter snow. 



Come wealth or want, come good or ill. 

Let young and old accept their part. 
And bow before the awful will, 

And bear it with an honest heart. 60 

Who misses or who wins the prize — 

Go, lose or conquer as you can; 
But if you fail, or if you rise. 

Be each, pray God, a gentleman. 



A gentleman, or old or young ! 65 

(Bear kindly with my humble lays); 
The sacred chorus first was sung 

Upon the first of Christmas days; 
The shepherds heard it overhead — 

The joyful angels rais'd it then: 7° 

Glory to heaven on high, it said, 

And peace on earth to gentle men ! 



THE GENTLEMAN 



369 



My song, save this, is little worth; 

I lay the weary pen aside, 
And wish you health, and love, and mirth, 75 

As fits the solemn Christmas-tide. 
As fits the holy Christmas birth. 

Be this, good friends, our carol still : 
Be peace on earth, be peace on earth, 

To men of gentle will. 80 



Plan of Summary. — Reviewing the chapter, (i) enumerate the 
kinds of metre, designating them by the number of accents and by the 
predominant foot. Then (2) say which poem is most noticeable for mel- 
ody; (3) which for beauty of suggested sights; (4) which for pleasure 
of suggested sounds; (5) which for pleasure of suggested activity; 
(6) which for pleasure of suggested odors or tastes; (7) which is 
most easily understood; (8) which moves the reader most deeply; 
(9) which shows most skill in character drawing; (10) which has the 
best unity; (ii) which, your critical judgment tells you, is the best 
piece of work; (12) which you like the best, — without regard to its 
deserved rank, or its fame. 



2B 



CHAPTER IX 
WIT AND HUMORi 

It is an interesting question to ask ourselves why we 
laugh. Certainly it is not always because the thing laughed 
at is funny. People in an audience will guffaw at a joke 
so poor as to deserve tears; they would not smile if they 
saw the same stale jest in the morning paper. When 
people are tired or nervously weak, they laugh at nothing, 
and we call them hysterical; of this order are the giggling 
boy and the giggling girl. When a student is at work over 
an algebraic problem, he sees nothing funny in the mathe- 
matical puzzle he is trying to solve. He is very serious 
indeed, poring with knitted brows over the task. Yet 
presently when the answer is found, and particularly if it is 
found in an unexpected way, the brows unbend and a smile 
breaks out upon the face. Still the answer is not amusing. 

The student smiled when the nervous tension of search- 
ing for the answer was relaxed. The answer came as a 
pleasant surprise. Similarly the audience laughed at the 
poor joke because the tension of expectation ceased. A 
pleasant relaxing of attention or a pleasant surprise usually 
produces a smile. 

What we call the sense of the ridiculous has in it a great 
deal of this surprise element. When Patrick Henry ex- 
claimed, "Caesar had his Brutus, Charles the P'irst his 
Cromwell, and George the Third — may profit by their 
example! " he saved himself by a stroke of wit from being 

1 For several anecdotes in this chapter the editor is indebted to Walter 
Jerrold's " Bon Mots of the Nineteenth Century," 



WIT AND HUMOR 



371 



called a traitor. We may be sure his hearers laughed. So 
did the attendants who, having repeatedly dipped the 
invalid Charles Lamb into cold water, learned at last that. Lamb's 
if they had given the stammering patient time, he would ^ ^ ^ ^P^' 
have said, " I was to be di-di-di-dipped only once.'" When 
Bret Harte's soldier said, "I was with Grant," — the old 
farmer thought himself face to face with a comrade of his 
son. He was ridiculously surprised when the stranger, hav- 
ing eaten a good dinner at the farmer's expense, explained 
that he had worked for Grant some years before the war. 

There is nothing so surprising, and therefore so funny, 
as to find a thing quite out of its place. If one should see 
a cow jumping over the moon he would feel that the situa- 
tion was unnatural for the cow and for the moon. What 
is called wit consists largely in seeing things or imagining 
things out of place. What is called a pun is putting the 
wrong word into a given place because it sounds like the 
word which really belongs there. Good puns are rare. 
Two of the three in the following anecdote, told by Mr. 
Walter Jerrold, are good, the other poor. 

As an " elaborately dressed young lady stepped out on the 
hotel piazza to admire the sunset, a friend whispered to 
Oliver Wendell Holmes, 'The young lady is in evening 
dress.' 

"'The close of the day, my dear sir,' remarked Holmes. 

"'That's Holmes' pun,' was the reply. 

"'I'm worsted,' added the poet." 

The intentional pun is not so funny as the unintentional. 
Sheridan's Mrs. Malaprop was an adept in the latter species. 
She wouldn't wish a daughter of hers to become a progeny 
of learning, but would have her instructed in geometry, Mrs. Mala- 
that she might know something of contagious countries. Education 

Very like punning is the kind of surprise produced by for Girls, 
intentional bad spelling. It is rather a low form of wit, P- 37^- 



372 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



When 
Moonlike 
ore the 
Hazure 
Seas, 
p. 378. 



Lapsus 
Calami, 
P- 379- 



He is an 
English- 
man, 
p. 380. 



but now and then a man like Artemus Ward could make it 
irresistible. His "amoosin' grate show" of one kangaroo 
was droll enough until every country newspaper began to 
imitate the method of the fun. Thackeray makes use of 
bad spelling to burlesque the sentimental love-poetry of his 
day. The conventional love-lorn youth, apostrophizing 
the heartless fair who has jilted him for rank and wealth, 
is displaced in Thackeray's poem by a footman. The 
latter says exactly what the lover would say, but he spells 
the words in footman style. He makes a single slip in his 
use of adjectives: instead of saying "weeping eyes" he 
says "weeping lips." A careful reader finds that the best 
thing in the poem. 

Now and then the pun is used with great effect for pur- 
poses of satire. When Mr. Kipling was a very young 
man he poured forth great numbers of magazine stories. 
His fertility did not escape the satire of the late James 
Kenneth Stephen, who longed for the day " When the Rud- 
yards cease from kipling." Douglas Jerrold said to a 
writer, "Why, Chorley, your hair's red; your waistcoat's 
red; your necktie's red; — in fact everything about you is 
red except your books." One of the most effective forms 
of satirical wit is irony. This may be illustrated by Mr. 
Gilbert's congratulation of an Englishman for condescend- 
ing to be born an Englishman. 

Wit has often been directed against dull poetry. Alex- 
ander Pope, in the early eighteenth century, wrote a long 
poem called The Dunciad, in which he flayed all his 
poetaster rivals, singling out one — Shadwell — as the 
prince of the dunces. In our own day, Lowell has plied 
his wit upon American writers in his Fable for Critics. 
In this poem he has a fling against even himself : — 

There is Lowell, who's striving Parnassus to climb 
With a whole bale of isms tied together with rhyme. 



WIT AND HUMOR 3^73 

He might get on alone, spite of brambles and boulders, 

But he can't with that bundle he has on his shoulders. 

The top of the hill he will ne'er come nigh reaching 

Till he learns the distinction 'tvvixt singing and preaching; 

His lyre has some chords that would ring pretty well; 

But he'd rather by half make a drum of the shell, 

And rattle away till he's old as Methusalem, 

At the head of a march to the last new Jerusalem. 

Here Lowell is remembering the morals he drew from 
the dandelion, from Sir Launfal, and from many other 
poetic themes. Lowell felt, with Dr. Garnett, that poetry 
with a deliberate moral — didactic, or preaching poetry — ■ 
is not poetry at all; a mule is a mule, no matter what he 
carries on his back. Lowell wrote a bright satire on iheDidac- 

T 1 • T 1 • • • -i • ^ ^ ^^^ Poem, 

didactic poetry, pretending that it originated with the p. 380. 
goddess Minerva, who put Jove himself to sleep with it. 

Wit is the keenest of weapons. It is, indeed, often 
cruel and heartless. Napoleon said that " a victory could 
no more be made without sacrificing men than an omelette 
without eggs." Similarly the joker thinks that somebody 
must pay the expense of his jokes. When, however, 
the biter is bitten, we rejoice; severe repartee is the 
sweetest of morsels to everybody save one. "A Vienna 
lady visiting England remarked to Lord Dudley, 'What 
wretchedly bad French you all speak in London! ' 'It is 
true, madame, ' he answered, 'we have not enjoyed the 
advantage of having the French twice in our capital.'" 
Even when there is no reasonable justification of the 
retort, the mere fact of its wittiness will sometimes take 
the place of reason. "At the East India House the head 
of the oflice once reproved Lamb for the excessive irregu- 
larity of his attendance. 'Really, Mr. Lamb, you come 
very late ! ' observed the ofificial. 'Y-yes, ' replied Lamb, 
with his habitual stammer; 'b-but consi-sider how ear- 
early I go! ' " 



374 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



It is in rude stages of civilization that the wit which has 
no personal sting is thought to be no wit. Thus, all savage 
tribes find personal deformity funny. When Shakspere 
wished to make a study of insanity, in Hamlet, he found 
that his audience — an audience of only three hundred 
years ago — regarded insanity as comic. To this day a 
drunken man is laughed at even when, having passed the 
early stages of his drunken fit, he lies in the gutter, a shame 
to his race. D'Orsay, the famous dandy, "was irritated 
at receiving anonymously some offensive verses sealed with 
a wafer and thimble. These verses caused great laughter 
at the Beau's expense; D'Orsay, however, had a shrewd 
idea as to their author, a would-be dandy, deeply marked 
by small-pox; and meeting him at a club he called out to 
him, 'The next time, mon cher, that you write an anony- 
mous letter, don't seal it with the end of your nose.'" 
There can be no doubt that D'Orsay's joke was a bit funny. 
The trouble is that he lacked the gentlemanly sympathy 
which would have prevented the funny side of the case from 
presenting itself to his mind. The true gentleman, as Dr. 
Theodore Hunger says, "simply does not see deformity " ; ^ 
or, if he does, he reasons to himself that it is only by the 
grace of God that he himself is free from the same. For 
that matter, every one probably has something like de- 
formity. Our eyes are bad, or our blood is pale, or some- 
where in our system there is a disease slowly developing. 
We can very properly laugh at the physical inadequacy of 
our race. Little man takes his gun and goes forth to hunt 
the red deer and the wild-fowl; meantime some "fearful 
wild-fowl " like the microbe of malaria starts out in millions 
to hunt little man. If looked at in a certain way, even 
little man is something of a joke. 

1 " On the Threshold." 



WIT AND HUMOR 3^75 

Several distinctions are usually made between wit and 
humor. For example wit originates bright, sharp expres- 
sions, while humor merely appreciates them. General 
Grant liked a good story, but he rarely tried to tell one. 
Another distinction is that wit often spends itself in 
word-play, while humor spreads itself over a general situa- 
tion. For example, Charles Lamb, having dined very 
heartily with a company, and afterwards squeezed into a 
coach with them, sat appreciating the pervading humor of 
the situation. When presently some one without shouted, 
"All full within?" Lamb's wit burst forth. "I can't 
answer for the others, but that last piece of pudding did 
the business for me." 

Wit and humor are alike in enjoying an exaggeration of 
the truth, but this form of the ridiculous is chiefly a matter 
of humor. Americans are supposed to supply this kind of 
joke; but some of the best things in British humor are of 
the same order. Lamb declared of a certain man, "He'd 
throw a d-damp upon a-a-a funeral!" "Lamb said that 
on one occasion he met Coleridge in the street. Coleridge 
took hold of his friend by the button of his coat and began 
telling something in his long-drawn-out manner, discussing 
perhaps one of those questions of 'fate, free-will, fore- 
knowledge absolute,' of which he was so fond. Elia,-^ who 
was on his way to the India House, had no time for dis- 
cussion, so he took out his penknife, cut the button off his 
coat, and, leaving it in Coleridge's hand, continued his 
way. On his return some hours later, says Elia, he found 
Coleridge still holding the button, and holding forth to his 
imagined auditor." It is hard to say which are the calmer 
and drier, the exaggerations of Dr. Holmes or those of the 
Rev. Dr. Sydney Smith, the one a Yankee, the other an 

1 Elia (pronounced El'lia) was Lamb's literary name, or pseudpnym. 



376 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



Englishman. Dr. Holmes tells the story of the wonderful 

The Height one-hoss shay that was built so evenly well as to be logically 

°j' ^ J unable to wear out. Again, he says that for years he has 

p. 381. not dared to write "as funny as he can," since the time 

when his doing so almost cost the life of a servant. 

Elsewhere he adapts the old legend of a headsman whose 

victims had to sneeze in order to know whether they were 

already decapitated. Sydney Smith tells of the wonders 

of Ceylon, where musk is so strong as to infect bottled 

The Pro- wine, and a leaf of the talipot tree shelters ten soldiers. 

ductionsof -pj^g most important of the distinctions between wit and 

Ceylon, ^ 

p. 382. humor is the following. Humor is closely allied to pathos, 

wit is usually not. Humor is a feeling, more than an in- 
tellectual perception; wit is a cold, intellectual process. 
Dickens is a great humorist; he makes us laugh and cry in 
the same breath. His street boys are funny things, but 
they touch our hearts. Charles Lamb was both wit and 
humorist, but we value his puns far less than the skilful 
mixture of comic and pathetic in his praise of chimney- 
sweepers (cf. page 343). Dr. Holmes, like Lamb, knew 
the secret of making the lips smile while there is a lump in 

The Last the throat. The exquisite humor of The Last Leaf proves 

L^^^' this, 

p. 384- 

LAMB'S SALT DIPS 

Walter JerRold 

Lamb had been medically advised to take a course of 
sea-bathing; and, accordingly, at the door of his bath- 
ing machine, whilst he stood shivering with the cold, 
two stout fellows laid hold of him, one at each shoulder, 
like heraldic supporters; they waited for the word of 5 
command from their principals, who began the following 
oration to them: — 



WIT AND HUMOR 



177 



" Hear me, men ! Take notice of this — I am to be 
dipped." What more he would have said is unknown, 
for having reached the word "dipped," he commenced lo 
such a rolling fire of di-di-di-di, that when at length he 
descended a plomb upon the full word dipped, the two 
men, rather tired of the long suspense, became satisfied 
that they had reached what lawyers call the " operative 
clause " of the sentence; and both exclaiming, " Oh yes, 15 
sir, we are quite aware of that," down they plunged him 
into the sea. 

On emerging. Lamb sobbed so much from the cold 
that he found no voice suitable to his indignation; from 
necessity he seemed tranquil; and again addressing the 20 
men, who stood respectfully listening, he began thus : — 

"Men! is it possible to obtain your attention? " 

"Oh, surely, sir, by all means." 

"Then listen; — once more I tell you I am to be 
di-di-di-di-," and then, with a burst of indignation, 25 
"dipped, I tell you." 

"Oh, decidedly, sir," rejoined the men, "decidedly," 
and down the stammerer went for a second time. 

Petrified with cold and wrath, once more Lamb made 
a feeble attempt at explanation : — 30 

" Grant me pa-pa-patience ! Is it mum-um-murder you 
me-me-ean? Again, and again I tell you I'm to be 
di-di-di-dipped," now speaking furiously, with the tone 
of an injured man. 

"Oh yes, sir," the men replied, "we know that; we 35 
fully understood it; " and, for the third time, down went 
Lamb into the sea. 

"O limbs of Satan!" he said, on coming up for the 
third time, "it's now too late; I tell you that I am — 
no, that I was — by medical direction, to be di-di-di- 40 
dipped only once,"" 



378 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



MRS. MALAPROP ON EDUCATION FOR GIRLS 

Richard Brinsley Sheridan 

Sir Anthony Absolute. Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in 
moderation now, what would you have a woman know? 

Mrs. Malaprop. Observe me. Sir Anthony, I would 
by no means wish a daughter of mine to be a progeny 
of learning; I don't think so much learning becomes a 5 
young woman; for instance, I would never let her 
meddle with Greek or Hebrew, or algebra, or simony, or 
fluxions, or paradoxes, or such inflammatory branches 
of learning — neither would it be necessary for her to 
handle any of your mathematical, astronomical, dia- 10 
bolical instruments. But, Sir Anthony, I would send 
her, at nine years old, to a boarding-school in order to 
learn a little ingenuity and artifice. Then, sir, she 
should have a supercilious knowledge in accounts; and 
as she grew up, I would have her instructed in geometry, 15 
that she might know something of contagious countries. 
But above all. Sir Anthony, she should be mistress of 
orthodoxy, that she might not mis-spell and mis-pro- 
nounce words so shamefully as girls usually do; and 
likewise that she might reprehend the true meaning of 20 
what she is saying. This, Sir Anthony, is what I would 
have a woman know, — and I don't think there is a 
superstitious article in it. 

WHEN MOONLIKE ORE THE HAZURE SEAS 

William Makepeace Thackeray 

When moonlike ore the hazure seas 

In soft effulgence swells. 
When silver jews and balmy breaze 

Bend down the Lily's bells; 



}VIT AND HUMOR 



379 



When calm and deap, the rosy sleap 5 

Has lapt your soal in dreems, 
R Hangeline ! R lady mine ! 

Dost thou remember Jeames? 

I mark thee in the Marble All, 

Where England's loveliest shine — ■ 10 

I say the fairest of them hall 

Is Lady Hangeline. 
My soul, in desolate eclipse, 

With recollection teems — 
And then I hask, with weeping lips, 15 

Dost thou remember Jeames? 

Away ! I may not tell thee hall 

This soughring heart endures — 
There is a lonely sperrit-call 

That Sorrow never cures ; 20 

There is a little, little Star, 

That still above me beams; 
It is the Star of Hope — but ar ! 

Dost thou remember Jeames? 

LAPSUS CALAMI 

TO R. K. 

James Kenneth Stephen 

Will there never come a season 

Which shall rid us from the curse 

Of a prose which knows no reason 

And an unmelodious verse : 

When the world shall cease to wonder 5 

At the genius of an ass. 

And a boy's eccentric blunder 

Shall not bring success to pass : 



38o 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 

When mankind shall be delivered 

From the clash of magazines, lo 

And the inkstand shall be shivered 

Into countless smithereens : 

When there stands a muzzled stripling, 

Mute, beside a muzzled bore : 

When the Rudyards cease from kipling 15 

And the Haggards ride no more. 



HE IS AN ENGLISHMAN 

William Schwenk Gilbert 

He is an Englishman, 

For he himself has said it, 
And it's greatly to his credit 

That he is an Englishman. 

For he might have been a Roosian, 
A French, or Turk, or Proosian, 

Or perhaps Ital-i-an; 

But in spite of all temptations 
To belong to other nations. 

He remains an Englishman. 



THE DIDACTIC POEM 
Richard Garnett 

Soulless, colorless strain, thy words are the words of 

wisdom. 
Is not a mule a mule, bear he a burden of gold? 



38i 



WIT AND HUMOR 

THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS 
Oliver Wendell Holmes 

I wrote some lines once on a time 

In wondrous merry mood, 
And thought, as usual, men would say 

They were exceeding good. 

They were so queer, so very queer, 

I laughed as I would die; 
Albeit, in the general way, 

A sober man am I. 

I called my servant, and he came; 

How kind it was of him, 
To mind a slender man like me, 

He of the mighty limb ! 



"These to the printer," I exclaimed, 

And, in my humorous way, 
I added (as a trifling jest), 15- 

"There'll be the devil to pay." 

He took the paper, and I watched. 

And saw him peep within; 
At the first line he read, his face 

Was all upon the grin. 20 

He read the next; the grin grew broad, 

And shot from ear to ear. 
He read the third; a chuckling noise 

I now began to hear. 



10 



382 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 

The fourth; he broke into a roar; 25 

The fifth; his waistband split; 
The sixth; he burst five buttons off, 

And tumbled in a fit. 

Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye, 

I watched that wretched man, 30 

And since, I never dare to write 
As funny as I can. 



THE PRODUCTIONS OF CEYLON 

Sydney Smith 

Ceylon produces the elephant, the buffalo, tiger, elk, 
wild hog, rabbit, hare, fiying-fox, and musk-rat. Many 
articles are rendered entirely useless by the smell of 
musk, which this latter animal communicates in merely 
running over them. Mr. Percival asserts, and the fact 5 
has been confirmed to us by the most respectable, 
authority, that if it even pass over a bottle of wine, how- 
ever well corked and sealed up, the wine becomes so 
strongly tainted with musk, that it cannot be used; and 
a whole cask may be rendered useless in the same 10 
manner. Among the great variety of birds, we were 
struck with Mr. Percival' s account of the honey-bird, 
into whose body the soul of a common informer appears 
to have migrated. It makes a loud and shrill noise, to 
attract the notice of anybody whom it may perceive; and 15 
thus inducing him to follow the course it points out, 
leads him to the tree where the bees have concealed 
their treasure; after the apiary has been robbed, this 



WIT AND HUMOR 



383 



feathered scoundrel gleans his reward from the hive. 
The list of Ceylonese snakes is hideous; and we become 20 
reconciled to the crude and cloudy land in which we 
live, from reflecting, that the indiscriminate activity of 
the sun generates what is loathsome, as well as what is 
lovely; that the asp reposes under the rose; and the 
scorpion crawls under the fragrant flower and the 25 
luscious fruit. 

The usual stories are repeated here of the immense 
size and voracious appetite of a certain species of ser- 
pent. The best history of this kind we ever remember 
to have read, was of a serpent killed near one of our 30 
settlements, in the East Indies, in whose body they 
found the chaplain of the garrison, all in black, the Rev. 
Mr. somebody or other, whose name we have for- 
gotten, and who, after having been missing for above a 
week, was discovered in this very inconvenient situation. 35 
The dominions of the King of Candy are partly defended 
by leeches, which abound in the woods, and from which 
our soldiers suffered in the most dreadful manner. The 
Ceylonese, in compensation for their animated plagues, 
are endowed with two vegetable blessings, the cocoanut 40 
tree and the talipot tree. The latter affords a pro- 
digious leaf, impenetrable to sun or rain, and large 
enough to shelter ten men. It is a natural umbrella, 
and is of as eminent service in that country as a great- 
coat tree would be in this. A leaf of the talipot tree is 45 
a tent to the soldier, a parasol to the traveller, and a 
book to the scholar. The cocoanut tree affords bread, 
milk, oil, wine, spirits, vinegar, yeast, sugar, cloth, 
paper, huts, and ships. 



Which sentences are serious, which humorous? Use care in judging 
of the last in the selection. 



384 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



THE LAST LEAF 

I saw him once before 
As he passed by the door, 

And again 
The pavement stones resound, 
As he totters o'er the ground 5 

With his cane. 

They say that in his prime, 
Ere the pruning-knife of Time 

Cut him down, 
Not a better man was found 10 

By the Crier on his round 

Through the town. 

But now he walks the streets. 
And he looks at all he meets 

Sad and wan, . 15 

And he shakes his feeble head. 
That it seems as if he said, 

"They are gone." 

The mossy marbles rest 

On the lips that he has prest 20 

In their bloom. 
And the names he loved to hear 
Have been carved for many a year 

On the tomb. 

My grandmamma has said — 25 

Poor old lady, she is dead 
Long ago ^ — 



IVn^ AND HUMOR 



385 



That he had a Roman nose, 
And his cheek was like a rose 

In the snow. 30 

But now his nose is thin, 
And it rests upon his chin 

Like a staff, 
And a crook is in his back 
And a melancholy crack 35 

In his laugh. 

I know it is a sin 
For me to sit and grin 

At him here; 
But the old three-cornered hat, 40 

And the breeches, and all that, 

Are so queer ! 

And if I should live to be 
The last leaf upon the tree 

In the spring, 45 

Let them smile as I do now. 
At the old forsaken bough 

Where I cling. 

The skill shown in the metre and rhymes is very great. The exquisite 
fourth stanza is as natural as conversation. The poem is eminently worth 
learning. 

Plan of Summary. — Reviewing the chapter, (i) enumerate the 
kinds of metre, designating them by the number of accents, and by the 
predominant foot. Then (2) say which poem is most noticeable for mel- 
ody; (3) which for beauty of suggested sights; (4) which for pleasure 
of suggested sounds; (5) which for pleasure of suggested activity; 
(6) which for pleasure of suggested odors or tastes; (7) which is 
most easily understood; (8) which moves the reader most deeply; 
(9) which shows most skill in character drawing; (10) which has the 
best unity; (11) which, your critical judgment tells you, is the best 
piece of work; (12) which you like the best, — vidthout regard to its 
deserved rank, or its fame. 

2C 



CHAPTER X 
THE FAR GOAL 

At fifteen life seems very long. To be of that age is 
like being up very early in the morning. If man's life of 
seventy years be likened to the day of twenty-four hours, 
then when one is fifteen years old it is only five o'clock in 
the morning. At that time of day, what may one not expect 
to happen before night ! 

The golden plans of the youth have always been dear to 
the poet, for the latter recognizes in them much that is of 
high promise. Even if the things dreamed of are very 
vague, still they are not to be despised. The boy who 
never owns air castles will never own granite castles. 
Lowell, in his poem of Aladdin, regrets the passing of the 
day when he possessed many a golden-roofed palace of 
dream-stuff. George William Curtis, in a very beautiful 
My essay, lingers over his Spanish chateaux with the same 

Chateaux, affectionate remembrance. He finds that he is not the 
only man who holds large possessions in the sunset clouds. 
All around him are these capitalists, some happy in their 
dreams, though these never come true, some soured and 
sad because they can never reach their cloud-land estates. 

There are countless dreams that must come to naught, 
for we know very little of human nature, and less of the 
plans of Providence. We expect to find money-making, 
or learning, or truth-telling, easier than these things are. 
We are constantly surprised to observe how rapidly our 
own wishes change. We tie ourselves down to a certain 

386 



P- 391- 



THE FAR GOAL 



387 



place, expecting to pass our days there; next week we 
wonder why we ever set foot in that place. Nevertheless, 
dreams are a good thing. If we are sanguine about noth- 
ing, how shall we get anything done ? If we do not believe 
there is much goodness in human nature, how shall we find 
any? Suppose life does cheat us and bully us; cheats and 
bullies can sometimes be bettered, and at heart they are 
never wholly bad. 

The chief value of a dream, however, lies in the action 
that grows out of it when it is fading. This is the thought 
in Charles Kingsley's One Grand Sweet Song. When One Grand 
young people begin to awake from their day-dreams, they Sweet 

■' ■' Song, 

abandon the hope of reaching quite all their air-castles, p. 397, 

but they have learned how to look ahead to a far goal. 

What can be said of this far goal as a sober possibility? 

Much, as we shall see. 

One of the main differences between the beast and the 

savage is that the latter is the more provident, looks 

farther ahead. The same difference holds in turn between 

the savage and the civilized man. The higher up we look, 

the more dread do we find of living from hand to mouth. 

The poor white trash who never know where their next 

meal is to come from are immeasurably the inferiors of men 

like the old fur-trader Astor, who see ahead for months 

and years. Such prudence sacrifices, if necessary, the 

happiness of the present moment to the future gain. We 

avoid excess of sweets to-day that we may have our teeth 

ten years hence. Shakspere's old Adam, in As You Like 

It, declares that his old age is as a lusty winter because in 

youth he did not woo the means of weakness and debility. 

From this point of view virtue means foregoing a present 

pleasure in view of a greater one to come. Heaven itself Sweetisthe 

is to be had for a small investment: and yet the famous ^°^^' 

p. 397. 

Elizabethan poet Spenser had to argue himself into tak- 



388 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



ing no account of the little pain that buys an endless 
pleasure. 

On the whole, education is one of the most nobly pru- 
dent institutions that the human race has managed to 
develop. Going to school may be said to have two prime 
objects; objects like the mere acquisition of knowledge 
are secondary. The first prime object is to find out what 
one is good for in life, — to discover one's goal. The 
second is to get the strength to pursue that goal. 

It is extraordinarily easy not to find out what one is good 
for. Relatives tried to make a merchant out of Irving, but 
his firm failed and a great humorist was thus rescued for the 
world. Relatives tried to make a lawyer out of Lowell, but 
he insisted that he was " a bookman " by nature, and a book- 
man he became. The number of able men who have missed 
their calling or have lacked the circumstances which develop 
great possibilities is hinted at in three famous stanzas of 
Gray's Elegy Written in a Country Church Yard. 

Some persons miss their calling by a hasty choice, for 
which years will not atone. Others miss it from neglecting 
opportunity, and these are probably the larger number. 
Caspar Be- The well-advised youth will seize on just the right chance, 
^^^^'^' as Longfellow's artist seized upon the burning brand of oak 

from which to shape his image, or as the prince in Sill's 
poem seized the weapon a coward threw down : — 

Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead. 

And weaponless, and saw the broken sword, 

Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand, 

And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout 

Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down, 

And saved a great cause that heroic day. 

The second chief aim of going to school is to learn how, 
by training of will and intellect, to attain the far goal. Of 
these two forms of training, the first is the more important. 



THE FAR GOAL 



389 



ance, 
p. 401. 



because it brings about the second, too. Tennyson ex- 
claims, "O well for him whose will is strong." Truly. Will.p.sgg. 
But will is like anything else in human nature — it may 
be cultivated. Just as an inaccurate person may become 
accurate, so a weak-willed person may become strong- 
willed. The secret lies in a habit of doing somewhat hard 
things. It does not matter so much what the things are. 
The point is that when the resolve has been made to do 
something a little hard, it must be carried into effect at 
once. The power of habit is brilliantly explained in a Habit, 
piece of prose by William James, a distinguished professor P" 4°°- 
of psychology. The nobility of a habit of self-restraint is 
the subject of Emerson's poem called Forbearance. Forbear- 

Progress toward any goal seems slow if the goal is dis- 
tant. The goal of a chicken is soon reached, and there- 
fore nature gives him the satisfaction of seeming to get on 
fast. He can run alone as soon as he is out of the shell. 
The man's goal is infinitely distant, and therefore, as Pro- 
fessor John Fiske has shown, nature must give man a long 
infancy, developing one power at a time. The baby may 
not be able to run alone when a day old, but the time will 
come when he will be worth a wilderness of chickens. 
The strongest nations have been those which have devel- 
oped slowly. Precocity is as dangerous a sign in a people 
as in a boy. See the deliberation with which the Saxon 
race has spread, "winning by inches, holding by clinches " 
— as Robert Collyer puts it. 

A person who grows is not much conscious of the fact 
except as others tell him, or he looks back upon what he 
was long since. This is the thought in Clough's Say not, Say not, the 
the Stj'us^de nouo-Jit Availeth. In the east the sun climbs ^^'""^^'^ 

oc> ^ nought 

slowly, but while you look at his imperceptible ascent the Avaiieth, 
western land behind you has become bright. It is a curi- P* "^^^ 
ous fact that we think ourselves to-day the same persons 



390 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



we were ten years ago. Yet to our friends we were proba- 
bly very different then, and, the chances are, much more 
disagreeable. By exercise of the will we do come after a 
The Lad- while to the acquisition of power. The great theologian 
^^. °^ of the early Latin church put this truth into poetic form 

Augustine, when he declared that every evil impulse conquered may 
P' 4°^* be made a round in a ladder. Longfellow has set Au- 

gustine's thought in good verse. 

It is desirable to find out what one is good for in life; 
it is delightful to find out that one is good for something 
more than one thought. The boy who aims to get a year 
of school-life (it must not be forgotten that school is life) 
does well if by Christmas he learns that he cannot get along 
without two years. The girl who wishes to be a nurse does 
well if she discloses real capacity for being a doctor. 
The youth who goes into business is fortunate if he early 
learns that he must have more training, more sympathy with 
education, and science, and civic life, and religion, and 
literature, and art, if he is to be a man among men, or 
capable of enjoying his money. He is a human being 
before he is a business man. If he does not learn this he 
will become a mere cog in the world's machinery. 

Dr. Holmes's best poem has aspiration for its theme. 
He saw one day a section of the shell called the chambered 
nautilus. While wondering at the delicacy of its irised 
interior, he reflected on the way the spiral grew. The 
dim, dreaming life of the little tenant spent itself in build- 
ing each year a new and larger cell. It 

Stole with soft step the shining archway through, 

Built up its idle door, 
Stretched in its last-found home, and knew the old no more. 

The sight of this series of abandoned dwellings stirs within 
the poet a high aspiration, and he calls upon his soul to 



THE FAR GOAL oqj 

forget the low ideals of the past, and to build a statelier 
mansion with each returning season. 

Whittier has a poem on this theme, or one very similar. 
He and his friends pursued through the woods the noise 
of a waterfall, and seemed to catch glimpses of its signals, 
the white scarfs of its foam; but, search as they would, the 
waterfall eluded them. Meantime however they had seen 
every other lovely thing the landscape afforded. 

The final poem in this chapter has a very different con- 
ception from any of the others. The figure of struggle and 
battle used so often before is now changed for the peaceful 
flight of a bird. The goal of a life sometimes seems too 
far away to be reached. Moving toward it is like moving 
through trackless air. Bryant asks of the Water- Fowl, -po a 
whither lies its way through the depths of the evening Water- 

Fowl 

sky. The bird could not answer if it heard. It cannot ^ . ' 
. .... . P" ^^' 

see the distant lake toward, which it is moving steadily and 

swiftly. The bird is being guided by a Power. It is 

lone-wandering, but not lost. 



MY CHATEAUX! 

George William Curtis 

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 

A stately pleasure-dome decree. — Coleridge. 

I am the owner of great estates. Many of them lie in 
the West, but the greater part are in Spain. You may 
see my western possessions any evening at sunset, when 
their spires and battlements flash against the horizon. 

It gives me a feeling of pardonable importance, as a 
proprietor, that they are visible, to my eyes at least, from 
any part of the world in which I chance to be. In my 

1 Reprinted from " Prue and I," by permission of Harper and Brothers. 



392 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



long voyage around the Cape of Good Hope to India (the 
only voyage I ever made, when I was a boy and a super- 
cargo), if I fell homesick, or sank into a revery of all the lo 
pleasant homes I had left behind, I had but to wait until 
sunset, and then looking toward the west, I beheld my 
clustering pinnacles and towers brightly burnished as if 
to salute and welcome me. 

So, in the city, if I get vexed and wearied, and cannot 15 
find my wonted solace in sallying forth at dinner-time to 
contemplate the gay world of youth and beauty hurrying 
to the congress of fashion — or if I observe that years are 
deepening their tracks around the eyes of my wife, Prue, 
I go quietly up to the housetop, toward evening, and re- 20 
fresh myself with a distant prospect of my estates. It is 
as dear to me as that of Eton to the poet Gray ; and, if 
I sometimes wonder at such moments whether I shall 
find those realms as fair as they appear, I am suddenly 
reminded that the night air may be noxious, and descend- 25 
ing, I enter the little parlor where Prue sits stitching, 
and surprise that precious woman by exclaiming with the 
poet's pensive enthusiasm : — 

Thought would destroy their Paradise, 
No more; — where ignorance is bliss, 3° 

'Tis folly to be wise. 

Columbus, also, had possessions in the West ; and as I 
read aloud the romantic story of his hfe, my voice quivers 
when I come to the point in which it is related that sweet 
odors of the land mingled with the sea air, as the admiral's 35 
fleet approached the shores ; that tropical birds flew out 
and fluttered around the ships, ghttering in the sun, the 
gorgeous promises of the new country ; that boughs, 
perhaps with blossoms not all decayed, floated out to 
welcome the strange wood from which the craft were 40 



THE FAR GOAL ^qo 

hollowed. Then I cannot restrain myself. I think of 
the gorgeous visions I have seen before I have even 
undertaken the journey to the West, and I cry aloud to 
Prue, — 

" What sun-bright birds, and gorgeous blossoms, and 45 
celestial odors will float out to us, my Prue, as we ap- 
proach our western possessions ! " 

The placid Prue raises her eyes to mine vi^ith a reproof 
so dehcate that it could not be trusted to words ; and, 
after a moment, she resumes her knitting and I proceed. 50 

These are my western estates, but my finest castles are 
in Spain. It is a country famously romantic, and my 
castles are all of perfect proportions, and appropriately 
set in the most picturesque situations. I have never 
been to Spain myself, but I have naturally conversed 55 
much with travellers to that country ; although, I must 
allow, without deriving from them much substantial infor- 
mation about my property there. The wisest of them 
told me that there were more holders of real estate in 
Spain than in any other region he had ever heard of, 60 
and they are all great proprietors. Every one of them 
possesses a multitude of the stateHest castles. From con- 
versation with them you easily gather that each one con- 
siders his own castles much the largest and in the loveliest 
positions. And, after I had heard this said, I verified it, 65 
by discovering that all my immediate neighbors in the 
city were great Spanish proprietors. 

One day as I raised my head from entering some long 
and tedious accounts in my books, and began to reflect 
that the quarter was expiring, and that I must begin to 70 
prepare the balance-sheet, I observed my subordinate, 
in office but not in years (for poor old Titbottom will 
never see sixty again !), leaning on his hand, and much 
abstracted. 



394 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



" Are you not well, Titbottom ? " asked I. 75 

" Perfectly, but I was just building a castle in Spain," 
said he. 

I looked at his rusty coat, his faded hands, his sad eye, 
and white hair, for a moment, in great surprise, and then 
inquired, — 80 

" Is it possible that you own property there too? " 

He shook his head silently; and still leaning on his 
hand, and with an expression in his eye as if he were 
looking upon the most fertile estate of Andalusia, he went 
on making his plans, — laying out his gardens, I suppose, 85 
building terraces for the vines, determining a Ubrary with 
a southern exposure, and resolving which should be the 
tapestried chamber. 

" What a singular whim," thought I, as I watched Tit- 
bottom and filled up a check for four hundred dollars, my 90 
quarterly salary, " that a man who owns castles in Spain 
should be deputy bookkeeper at nine hundred dollars a 
year ! " 

When I went home I ate my dinner silently, and after- 
ward sat for a long time upon the roof of the house, look- 95 
ing at my western property, and thinking of Titbottom. 

It is remarkable that none of the proprietors have ever 
been to Spain to take possession and report to the rest of 
us the state of our property there. I, of course, cannot 
go, I am too much engaged. So is Titbottom. And 1 100 
find it is the case with all the proprietors. We have so 
much to detain us at home that we cannot get away. 
But it is always so with rich men. Prue sighed once as 
she sat at the window and saw Bourne, the millionnaire, 
the President of innumerable companies, and manager 105 
and director of all the charitable societies in town, going 
by with wrinkled brow and hurried step. I asked her 
why she sighed. 



THE FAR GOAL 3q^ 

"Because I was remembering that my mother used 
to tell me not to desire great riches, for they occasioned no 
great cares," said she. 

"They do indeed," answered I, with emphasis, remem- 
bering Titbottom, and the impossibility of looking after 
my Spanish estates. 

Prue turned and looked at me with mild surprise ; but 115 
I saw that her mind had gone down the street with Bourne. 
I could never discover if he held much Spanish stock. 
But I think he does. All the Spanish proprietors have a 
certain expression. Bourne has it to a remarkable degree. 
It is a kind of look, as if, in fact, a man's mind were in 120 
Spain. Bourne was an old lover of Prue's, and he is not 
married, which is strange for a man in his position. 

It is not easy for me to say how I know so much, as 
I certainly do, about my castles in Spain. The sun 
always shines upon them. They stand lofty and fair in 125 
a luminous, golden atmosphere, a little hazy and dreamy, 
perhaps, Hke the Indian summer, but in which no gales 
blow and there are no tempests. All the sublime moun- 
tains, and beautiful valleys, and soft landscape, that I 
have not yet seen, are to be found in the grounds. They 130 
command a noble view of the Alps ; so fine, indeed, that 
I should be quite content with the prospect of them from 
the highest tower of my castle, and not care to go to 
Switzerland. 

The neighboring ruins, too, are as picturesque as those 135 
of Italy, and my desire of standing in the Coliseum, and 
of seeing the shattered arches of the xA^queducts stretch- 
ing along the Campagna and melting into the Alban 
Mount, is entirely quenched. The rich gloom of my 
orange groves is gilded by fruit as brilliant of complexion 140 
and exquisite of flavor as any that ever dark- eyed Sor- 
rento girls, looking over the high plastered walls of 



396 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

southern Italy, hand to the youthful travellers, climbing 
on donkeys up the narrow lane beneath. 

The Nile flows through my grounds. The Desert lies 145 
upon their edge, and Damascus stands in my garden. I 
am given to understand, also, that the Parthenon has 
been removed to my Spanish possessions. The Golden- 
Horn is my fish-preserve ; my flocks of golden fleece are 
pastured on the plain of Marathon, and the honey of 150 
Hymettus is distilled from the flowers that grow in the 
vale of Enna — all in my Spanish domains. 

From the windows of those castles look the beautiful 
women whom I have never seen, whose portraits the 
poets have painted. They wait for me there, and chiefly 155 
the fair- haired child, lost to my eyes so long ago, now 
bloomed into an impossible beauty. The lights that 
never shone, glance at evening in the vaulted halls, upon 
banquets that were never spread. The bands I have 
never collected, play all night long, and enchant the 160 
brilliant company, that was never assembled, into silence. 

In the long summer mornings the children that I never 
had, play in the gardens that I never planted. I hear 
their sweet voices sounding low and far away, calling 
" Father ! father ! " I see the lost fair- haired girl, grown 165 
now into a woman, descending the stately stairs of my 
castle in Spain, stepping out upon the lawn, and playing 
with those children. They bound away together down 
the garden ; but those voices linger, this time airily call- 
ing, " Mother ! mother ! " . . . 17° 

As the years go by, I am not conscious that my interest 
diminishes. If I see that age is subtly sifting his snow in 
the dark hair of my Prue, I smile, contented, for her hair, 
dark and heavy as when I first saw it, is all carefully treas- 
ured in my castles in Spain. If I feel her arm more 175 
heavily leaning upon mine, as we walk around the squares, 



THE FAR GOAL ^(^j 

I press it closely to my side, for I know that the easy 
grace of her youth's motion will be restored by the elixir 
of that Spanish air. If her voice sometimes falls less 
clearly from her lips, it is no less sweet to me, for the i8o 
music of her voice's prime fills, freshly as ever, those 
Spanish halls. If the light I love fades a little from her 
eyes, I know that the glances she gave me, in our youth, 
are the eternal sunshine of my castles in Spain. 

ONE GRAND SWEET SONG 

Charles Kingsley 

My fairest child, I have no song to give you, 
No lark could sing 'neath skies so dull and gray, 
But, if you will, a quiet hint I'll give you 
For every day, for every day. 

I'll teach you how to sing a clearer carol 5 

Than lark that hails the dawn or breezy down; 
To win yourself a purer poet's laurel 
Than Shakspere's crown. 

Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever. 
Do noble things, not dream them all day long; 10 

And so make life, death, and that vast forever 
One grand, sweet song. 

SWEET IS THE ROSE 

Edmund Spenser 

Sweet is the rose, but grows upon a brere; 
Sweet is the juniper, but sharp his bough; 
Sweet is the eglantine, but pricketh near; 
Sweet is the firbloom, but his branches rough; 

3. near, keenly. 



398 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Sweet is the Cyprus, but his rind is tough; 

Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill; 

Sweet is the broom flower, but yet sour enough; 

And sweet is moly, but his root is ill; 

So, every sweet with sour is tempered still, 

That maketh it be coveted the more : 

For easy things that may be got at will 

Most sorts of men do set but little store. 

Why then should I account of little pain, 

That endless pleasure shall unto me gain? 

14. That = that which. 



CASPAR BECERRA 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

By his evening fire the artist 

Pondered o'er his secret shame; 
Baffled, weary, and disheartened. 

Still he mused, and dreamed of fame. 

'Twas an image of the Virgin 5 

That had tasked his utmost skill; 
But alas ! his fair ideal 

Vanished and escaped him still. 

From a distant Eastern island 

Had the precious wood been brought; 10 

Day and night the anxious master 

At his toil untiring wrought; 

Till, discouraged and desponding, 

Sat he now in shadows deep. 
And the day's humiliation 15 

Found oblivion in sleep. 



THE FAR GOAL 



399 



Then a voice cried, "Rise, O master! 

From the burning brand of oak 
Shape the thought that stirs within thee ! " 

And the startled artist woke, — 20 

Woke, and from the smoking embers 
Seized and quenched the glowing wood; 

And therefrom he carved an image, 
And he saw that it was good. 

O thou sculptor, painter, poet! 25 

Take this lesson to thy heart : 
That is best which lieth nearest; 

Shape from that thy work of art. 

WILL 

Alfred Tennyson 

I 

O well for him whose will is strong ! 

He suffers, but he will not suffer long; 

He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong : 

For him nor moves the loud world's random mock, 

Nor all Calamity's hugest waves confound, 5 

Who seems a promontory of rock, 

That, compass' d round with turbulent sound. 

In middle ocean meets the surging shock, 

Tempest-buffeted, citadel-crown' d. 

II 
But ill for him who, bettering not with time, 10 

Corrupts the strength of heaven-descended Will, 
And ever weaker grows thro' acted crime, 
Or seeming-genial venial fault, 

13. genial here means harmless. 



400 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Recurring and suggesting still ! 

He seems as one whose footsteps halt, 15 

Toiling in immeasurable sand, 

And o'er a weary sultry land, 

Far beneath a blazing vault, 

Sown in a wrinkle of the monstrous hill, 

The city sparkles like a grain of salt. 20 



HABIT 1 

William James 

Habit is thus the enormous fly-wheel of society, its 
most precious conservative agent. It alone is what 
keeps us all within the bounds of ordinance, and saves 
the children of fortune from the envious uprisings of the 
poor. It alone prevents the hardest and most repulsive 5 
walks of life from being deserted by those brought up to 
tread therein. It keeps the fisherman and the deck- 
hand at sea through the winter; it holds the miner in 
his darkness, and nails the countryman to his log-cabin 
and his lonely farm through all the months of snow; it 10 
protects us from invasion by the natives of the desert 
and the frozen zone. It dooms us all to fight out the 
battle of life upon the lines of our nurture or our early 
choice, and to make the best of a pursuit that disagrees, 
because there is no other for which we are fitted, and it 15 
is too late to begin again. It keeps different social 
strata from mixing. Already at the age of twenty-five 
you see the professional mannerism settling down on 
the young commercial traveller, on the young doctor, on 
the young minister, on the young counsellor-at-law. You 20 

1 Reprinted from the " Principles of Psychology," by permission of Henry 
Holt & Co. 



THE FAR GOAL .qj 

see the little lines of cleavage running through the char- 
acter, the tricks of thought, the prejudices, the ways of 
the "shop," in a word, from which the man can by and 
by no more escape than his coat-sleeve can suddenly fall 
into a new set of folds. On the whole, it is best he 25 
should not escape. It is well for the world that in most 
of us, by the age of thirty, the character has set like 
plaster, and will never soften again. 



FORBEARANCE 

Ralph Waldo Emerson 

Hast thou named all the birds without a gun? 

Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk? 

At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse? 

Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust? 

And loved so well a high behavior. 

In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained, 

Nobility more nobly to repay? 

Oh, be my friend, and teach me to be thine ! 

SAY NOT, THE STRUGGLE NOUGHT AVAILETH 
Arthur Hugh C lough 

Say not, the struggle nought availeth, 
The labor and the wounds are vain, 

The enemy faints not, nor faileth. 
And as things have been they remain. 

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; 

It may be, in yon smoke concealed, 
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, 

And, but for you, possess the Held. 

2D 



402 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, 

Seem here no painful inch to gain, lo 

Far back, through creeks and inlets making, 
Comes silent, flooding in, the main. 

And not by eastern windows only. 

When daylight comes, comes in the light; 

In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, 15 

But westward, look, the land is bright. 



THE LADDER OF SAINT AUGUSTINE 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

Saint Augustine ! well hast thou said, 

That of our vices we can frame 
A ladder, if we will but tread 

Beneath our feet each deed of shame ! 

All common things, each day's events, 5 

That with the hour begin and end. 
Our pleasures and our discontents. 

Are rounds by which we may ascend. 

The low desire, the base design. 

That makes another's virtues less; 10 

The revel of the treacherous wine. 

And all occasions of excess; 

The longing for ignoble things; 

The strife for triumph more than truth; 
The hardening of the heart that brings 15 

Irreverence for the dreams of youth; 



THE FAR GOAL .q^ 

All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds, 

That have their root in thoughts of ill; 

Whatever hinders or impedes 
The action of the nobler will : 



20 



All these must first be trampled down 

Beneath our feet, if we would gain 
In the bright fields of fair renown 

The right of eminent domain. 

We have not wings, we cannot soar; 25 

But we have feet to scale and climb 
By slow degrees, by more and more, 

The cloudy summits of our time. 

The mighty pyramids of stone 

That wedge-like cleave the desert airs, 30 

When nearer seen and better known, 

Are but gigantic flights of stairs. 

The distant mountains that uprear 

Their solid bastions to the skies. 
Are crossed by pathways, that appear 35 

As we to higher levels rise. 

The heights by great men reached and kept 

Were not attained by sudden flight, 
But they, while their companions slept, 

Were toiling upward in the night. 40 

Standing on what too long we bore 

With shoulders bent, and downcast eyes, 

We may discern — unseen before — 
A path to higher destinies. 



404 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Nor deem the irrevocable Past 45 

As wholly wasted, wholly vain, 

If, rising on its wrecks, at last 
To something nobler we attain. 



TO A WATER-FOWL 

William Cullen Bryant 

Whither, midst falling dew, 
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue 

Thy solitary way? 

Vainly the fowler's eye 5 

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky. 

Thy figure floats along. 

Seek' St thou the plashy brink 
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 10 

Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 

On the chafed ocean-side? 

There is a Power whose care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — 
The desert and illimitable air — ' 15 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned. 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 

Though the dark night is near. 20 

7-8. Bryant felt the difficulty of a " painting " that moves, but he decided 
not to change an image for which so much could be said. 



THE FAR GOAL .^. 

And soon that toil shall end; 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, 
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, 

Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 

Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 25 

Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart 
Deeply has sunk the lesson thou hast given, 

And shall not soon depart. 

He who, from zone to zone, 
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 30 
In the long way that I must tread alone. 

Will lead my steps aright. 



4o6 



STUDY OF LITERATURE 



CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE OF BRITISH AND AMERICAN 

AUTHORS 

Sixteenth Century 



Author. 


Date and Name of 
First Work. 


11 


2 


Work in Present Vol- 
ume, AND Chapter 


Edmund Spenser 
William Shakspere 


1569 Theatre of Vo- 
luptuous Worldlings 
1588? Titus An droni- 
cus 


17 
24 


52 


Sweet is the Rose VII 

Hark, hark, the lark VII 
A Fop VIII 



Seventeenth Century 



George Herbert 



1631 The Temple 



38 



40 



Sweet day, so cool VII 



Eighteenth Century 



Benjamin Franklin 


1725 Liberty and 
Necessity 


19 


84 


Remarks concerning the 
Savages of North 
America VIII 


Earl of Chatham 


1736 (First speech in 
Parliament) 


28 


70 


The American Revolu- 
tion II 


William Julius 


1761 Knowledge, an 


26 


^^ 


There's nae luck .VI 


Mickle 


Ode 








Richard Brinsley 


1775 The Rivals 


24 


6S 


Mrs. Malaprop on Edu- 


Sheridan 








cation IX 



1 The first number gives the age at which the author published his first 
volume ; the second gives his age at death. There is a great deal of differ- 
ence, in value, among the first works. For example, those of Herbert, 
Sheridan, Wordsworth, Scott, Lamb, Byron, Emerson, Ruskin, Barnes, 
Clough, Whitman, and Symonds are representative of their authors, while 
those of Mrs. Hemans, Bryant, Longfellow, Holmes, Lowell, and Patmore 
are crude juvenile performances, now forgotten. Bryant's best poem, 
Thanatopsis, was however written early enough (at 18) to entitle him to 
a place in the first of the lists just given. It must not be forgotten that 
some authors wrote much before they published. Some, like Mr. Watts- 
Dunton, Professor James, Miss Dickinson, and Mr. Canton seem to have 
courted obscurity as long as possible. A distinguished art critic, Mr. William 
James Stillman, recently pubhshed at seventy a volume of essays which, he 



CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE 
Nineteenth Century, First Half 



407 





Date and Name of 


1 


2 

89 


Work in Present Vol- 


Author. 


First Work. 


ume, and Chapter. 


Walter Savage 


1795 Poems 


28 


Rhodop6 and Aesop VI 


Landor 










William Words- 


1798 Lyrical Ballads 


28 


80 


March VII 


worth 








I wandered lonely VII 
My heart leaps up VII 


Sir Walter Scott 


1805 Lay of the Last 
Minstrel 


34 


61 


Helvellyn I 


Sydney Smith 


1807 Peter Plimley's 
Letters 


38 


74 


The Products of Ceylon 
IX 


Charles Lamb 


1807 Tales from 
Shakespeare 


32 


59 


The Young Montagu 
VIII 


Lord Byron 


1807 Hours of Idle- 
ness 


19 


46 


Swimming IV 


Felicia Hemans 


1808 Early Blossoms 


14 


41 


Landing of the Pilgrim 
Fathers III 


William Cullen 


1808 The Embargo 


14 


84 


The Twenty-Second of 


Bryant 








December III 
The Yellow Violet VII 
June VII 
The Death of the 

Flowers Vll 
November VII 
To a Water-Fowl X 


B. W. Procter 


1820 A Sicilian Story 


33 


87 


The Sea VII 


(Barry Cornwall) 










Charles Wolfe 


1825 Literary Re- 
mains 




32 


The Burial of Sir John 
Moore II 


Charles Tennyson- 


1827 Poems by Two 


19 


71 


The Lattice at Sunrise 


Turner 


Brothers 






VII 


Alfred, Lord Tenny- 


1827 Poems by Two 


20 


83 


The Charge of the Light 


son 


Brothers 






Brigade II 

The Reve7ige II 

In the Children's Hos- 
pital III 

Sir Galahad VIII 

The Shell VII 

The Eagle VII 



said, he should have been glad to defer another ten years if he had been 
reasonably sure of ten years. Contrast such solicitude for ripeness with 
the childish eagerness of Mrs. Hemans, Bryant, and Coventry Patmore ! Of 
course, essays worth the reading imply greater maturity than lyric poetry, 
— in v/hich the writer needs to express only his own feelings, not a wise 
judgment on many matters. It is a natural and excellent practice for boys 
and girls to express their feelings in verse. Yet even in lyric poetry children 
rarely produce what is worth printing. It is different in music ; musical 
prodigies are common. 



4o8 STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Nineteenth Century, First Half — Continued. 



Author. 


Date and Name of 


1 


2 


Work in Present Vol- 


First Work. 


ume, AND Chapter. 








The Voyage of Mael- 










dune V 










Will X 


Henry Wadsworth 


1826 Miscellaneous 


19 


75 


The Arsenal at Spring- 


Longfellow 


Poems, with other 
authors 






field III 
Sand of the Desert in 

an Hour-Giass V 
The Secret of the Sea V 
Sunrise on the Hills VH 
Caspar Becerra X 
The Ladder of Saint 

Augustine X 


Oliver Wendell 


1827 Poetic illustra- 


16 


85 


The Height of the Ridic- 


Holmes 


tions of the Athe- 
nteum Gallery, with 
other authors 






ulous IX 
The Last Leaf IX 


Edgar Allan Poe 


1827 Tamerlane 


17 


38 


The Haunted Palace IV 


Caroline Norton 


1829 The Sorrows of 
Rosalie 


21 


67 


The King of Denmark's 
Ride I 


John Greenleaf 


1831 Legends of New 


23 


85 


The Angels of Buena 


Whittier 


England 






Vista II 
Barclay of Ury III 


Robert Browning 


1833 Pauline 


21 


n 


How they brought the 

Good News I 
Tray I 
Incident of the French 










Camp II 
Herve Riel II 
Oh ! our manhood's 

prime vigor IV 


John Stuart Blackie 


1834 Translation of 
Goethe's Faust 


25 


84 


My Bath IV 


Sir Francis Has- 


1834 Miscellaneous 


23 


n 


The Private of the Buffs 


tings Doyle 


Verses 






II 
The Loss of the Birken- 
head II 


John Henry, Cardi- 


1835 Parochial Ser- 


34 


89 


The Gentleman VIII 


nal Newman 


mons 








Robert Nicoll 


1835 Poems and 
Lyrics 


21 


23 


The Hero HI 


Ralph Waldo Emer- 


1836 Nature 


33 


79 


Concord Hymn II 


son 








The Rhodora VII 
'Twas one of the 

charmed days VII 
The Humble-Bee VII 
The Snow-Storm VII 
Tact VIII 
Forbearance X 


William Makepeace 


1837 Yellowplush 


26 


52 


The End of the Play 


Thackeray 


Papers 






VIII 
When Moonlike IX 



CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE ^qQ 

Nineteenth Century, First Half — Continued 



Author. 



Date and Name of 
First Work. 



James Russell 
Lowell 

John Ruskin 

William Barnes 

Charles Kingsley 



Coventry Patmore 
Matthew Arnold 



Arthur Hugh 

Clough 
Sydney D obeli 



1838 Class Poem 



1843 Modern Paint- 
ers, V. i 

1844 Poems in the 
Dorsetshire dialect 

1844 Village Ser- 
mons 



1844 Poems 
1848 The Strayed 
Reveller 

1848 The Bothie of 

Tober-Na-Vuolich 

1850 The Roman 



1 


2 


19 


72 


24 




43 


85 


25 


56 


II 

26 


73 
66 


29 


42 


26 


50 



Work in Present Vol- 
UMK, AND Chapter. 



Inciilent of the Fire at 

Hamburgh HI 
To the Dandelion VH 
The Bird VH 
Of Vulgarity VHI 
Mary-Ann's Child VI 

The Three Fishers HI 
The Old, Old Song VI 
The Merry Lark VI 
One Grand, Sweet Song 

X 
The Toys VI 
The Forsaken Merman 

VI 
Sohrab and Rustum VI 
Say not, the struggle X 

How's my boy ? VI 



Nineteenth Century, Second Half 



George William 


1851 Nile Notes of 


27 


68 


My Chateaux X 


Curtis 


a Howadji 








Gerald Massey 


1854 The Ballad of 
Babe Christabel 


26 




The Deserter from the 
Cause II 


Richard Doddridge 


1854 Poems by Me- 


29 




The Great Winter IV 


Blackmore 


lanter 






Driven beyond Endur- 
ance IV 


Walt Whitman 


1855 Leaves of Grass 


36 


72 


Reconciliation III 
Patroling Barnegat III 
The Runner IV 
Warble for Lilac-Time 
VII 


John Antrobus 








The Cow-Boy V 


Theodore Watts- 








Midshipman Lanyon II 


Dunton 








The Octopus of the 
Golden Isles VIII 


William Schwenk 








He is an Englishman 


Gilbert 








IX 


Richard Garnett 


1858 Primula 


23 




The Didactic Poem IX 


Thomas Wentworth 


1858 Woman and 


30 




Decoration II 


Higginson 


her Wishes 








Thomas Ashe 


1859 Poems 


23 


63 


Sympathy VII 


Kate Putnam Os- 








Driving Home the Cows 


good 








VI 


Robert Buchanan 


1866 London Poems 


25 




Two Sons VI 



^lO STUDY OF LITERATURE 

Nineteenth Century, Second Half — Continued 



Author. 


Date and Name of 


1 

25 


2 

39 


Work in Present Vol- 


First Work. 


ume, AND Chapter. 


Sidney Lanier 


1867 Tiger Lilies 


Song of the Ghatta- 










hoochee VH 


Sarah Williams 


1868 Twilight Hours 


27 


27 


Omar and the Persian 
VHI 


Andrew Lang 


1872 Ballads and Lyr- 
ics of Old France 


28 




Scythe Song VH 


George Gary Eg- 


1872 How to Edu- 


33 




A Plantation Heroine HI 


gleston 


cate Yourself 






Two Gentlemen at 
Petersburg VIII 

A Breach of Etiquette 
VIII 


Henry Morton 


1872 How I found 


32 




A Meeting in the Heart 


Stanley 


Livingstone 






of Africa V 


Richard Jefferies 


1873 Reporting, Ed- 
iting, etc. 


25 


39 


The Physique of a 

Woodcutter IV 
The Lyra Prayer IV 


Alice Meynell 


1875 Preludes 






San Lorenzo Giustini- 
ani's Mother HI 


John Addington 


1875 The Renais- 


35 


53 


An Episode VI 


Symonds 


sance in Italy 








Robert Louis Stev- 


1878 An Inland 


28 


44 


Heather Ale II 


enson 


Voyage 








William Watson 


1880 The Prince's 


22 


Ghanged Voices VII 




Quest 








Emily H. Rickey 


1881 A Sculptor 


36 




A Sea Story HI 


James Kenneth 


1885 International 


26 


33 


Lapsus Galami IX 


Stephen 


Law, etc. 








G h a r 1 e s Gracroft 


1885 Echoes of 


30 


36 


A Football Player IV 


Lefroy 


Theocritus 






Ghlldhood and Youth IV 


Arthur Ghristopher 


1886 Memories of 


24 




Winter Harvests VII 


Benson 


Arthur Hamilton 








Henry Woodfen 


1886 The New South 


35 


38 


The Gonfederate Soldier 


Grady 








after the War HI 


Rudyard KipHng 


1886 Departmental 
Ditties 


21 




The Drums of the Fore 

and Aft II 
Soldier and Sailor Too II 


William Ganton 


1887 A Lost Epic 


42 




The Grow VII 


William Ernest 


1887 A Book of 


38 




Enter Patient III 


Henley 


Verses 






Operation HI 


A. Gonan Doyle 


1888 A Study in 
Scarlet 


29 




•Ware Holes HI 


William James 


1890 Principles of 
Psychology 


48 




Habit X 


Emily Dickinson 


1890 Poems (pos- 
thumous) 




56 


The Railway Train VII 
The Humming-Bird VII 


Norman Gale 


1892 A Gountry Muse 


30 




Dawn and Dark VII 


Ednah Proctor 


1897 An Opal 






Hannah the Quakeress 


Glarke 








HI 


Gharlotte Perkins 








A Man Must Live HI 


Stetson 











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